


On the Arrow

by Fic_me_senseless



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Pining, Star Trek: Into Darkness Spoilers, T'hy'la 2017, T'hy'la Big Bang, beautiful fan art by Deheerkonijn, healing takes time but does happen, implied/referenced PTSD, missing scene/year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 01:22:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 26,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11243349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fic_me_senseless/pseuds/Fic_me_senseless
Summary: After receiving the serum made from Khan’s super-blood, Jim is unsure of his place in the world. Escaping a destroyed San Francisco, he travels back to Riverside to re-evaluate his future. When his first officer unexpectedly arrives on his doorstep, Jim is reminded just how much he wants Spock to be a part of it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the T'hy'la Big Bang 2017. Please check out the gorgeous artwork by DeHeerKonijn which accompanies this story and can be found [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11235270/chapters/25108875). 
> 
> Each piece will also be appearing separately on Tumblr over the next few days, and can be found [here](http://deheerkonijn.tumblr.com/tagged/on-the-arrow).
> 
> Thanks to [DeHeerKonijn](http://deheerkonijn.tumblr.com/) for being the best partner I could have wished for, [Portbow](http://portbow.tumblr.com/) for the initial beta and brainstorming, and to [Aridette](http://aridette.tumblr.com/) for the super-quick final beta. 
> 
> Any remaining mistakes are my own.

 

Jim is aware of sound. Muffled voices, then Pike, and finally the clear warning of the red alert klaxon, all pulling him out of the nothing. He awakens with a desperate breath and then takes another, deeper and longer, lungs jolting into action. He registers the brightness of his surroundings but is unable to focus. Jim blinks, trying to adjust to the shock of being alive. As his breathing begins to even out, he hears the low beep of an alarm, steady as the pain that had been slowly increasing as he gained consciousness. Everything feels too far away. He turns his head to the side closest to the noise, looking for the source. Nausea kicks in a second after, and he glances at the monitor before his attention focuses on the approaching man in a white medical uniform. 

“Oh, don’t be so melodramatic, you were barely dead,” McCoy gently chastises, running a scanner close to Jim’s head. 

“It was the transfusion that really took its toll,” he explains, continuing to work. “You’ve been out cold for two weeks.” 

Jim tries to clear the haze clouding his mind, knowing he has to communicate. He swallows and finds he is parched. 

“Transfusion?” His voice sounds strained, quiet from disuse, and damaged from the radiation.

“Your cells were heavily irradiated. We had no choice,” McCoy answers earnestly. 

It takes a moment before Jim realises what he is referring to. “Khan.”

“Once we caught him, I synthesised a serum from his… super blood. Tell me, are you feeling homicidal? Power-mad? Despotic?”

“No more than usual. How did you catch him?” he asks weakly.

“I didn’t,” McCoy says, moving to check the IV equipment. 

Spock remains waiting at the back of the room while McCoy carries out his examination. Something pulls in Spock’s abdomen at the sound of Jim’s voice, and he feels his heart rate quicken. He works at reducing it to normal levels and ignores the desire to be immediately closer, registering that the increased time spent in meditation has been insufficient. Hands gently clasped behind his back, Spock checks his mental shields again before silently approaching the biobed. Jim chuckles almost imperceptibly. Despite himself, Spock feels a brief spark of warmth at his familiar smile. 

“You saved my life.” Jim says.

“Uhura and I had something to do with it too, you know,” McCoy interjects before returning his attention to the monitoring system.

Jim quirks an eyebrow at the interruption, and drowsily rolling his eyes, keeping them closed while Spock begins to speak.

“You saved _my_ life, Captain, and the lives of the entire crew -” Spock says, ready to give a prepared explanation.

“Spock… just -” Jim sounds pained, his voice barely above a whisper. The effort of opening his eyes is accompanied by a sigh. 

He looks unsteadily at Spock, but his voice is slightly stronger. “Thank you.” 

Spock softens. “You are welcome, Jim.”

Aside from the low sounds of the medical equipment, the room is quiet for a few moments. Jim closes his eyes again, and McCoy tells him he has adjusted his medication to control the pain. Jim nods once to acknowledge he heard, and gives in to exhaustion as the painkillers begin to take effect. Spock stays still, watching as Jim’s chest moves easily. His face is peaceful. Visually, there is no change in Jim from the previous day, yet Spock feels somehow lighter.

“He’ll be in and out like that for the next few days at least. Don’t expect much sense out of him for a while yet,” McCoy says, leaving the room.

Spock has spent fifty-six point three hours in this room since Jim was moved here fourteen standard days previously. He is satisfied that continuing to increase this figure will be a fitting use of his off-duty hours.


	2. Chapter 2

Jim wakes alone. The hospital room is dark, illuminated only by the glow of the monitors and the dimmed lights in the corridor. It’s the pain that makes him open his eyes. Experimentally, he stretches his legs, pointing his toes to the base of the bed, but immediately stops. Pain grips his lower back, shooting down to his thighs. The intensity of it shocks him into stillness, not wanting to move at the risk of it hurting more. He knows that he should call for a nurse, but can’t bring himself to ask for help. He doesn’t have the energy to pretend that it is something that comes easily. The serious painkillers have all but worn off. He’s grateful for the catheter because it means he doesn’t have to get up to use the bathroom. But lying in the biobed, unable to move, helplessness settles over him, holding him in place. He fists the sheet and digs the heels of his hands down, trying to push himself up using the mattress for leverage. The effort leaves him breathless and pathetic. When one of the monitors starts to beep, Jim knows he has a minute at most before someone comes to check on him. 

The door opens, and the concern on McCoy’s face is shadowed only by the artificial halo behind him. 

“Lights at forty percent. What’s wrong? What do you need?” McCoy says, striding towards the bed.

“Shouldn’t you be off duty now?” Jim answers, squinting against the light. It’s not bright, but it stings briefly, like a shock.

“That’s for me to worry about. Now, what is it? Where does it hurt?” McCoy stares at him for a moment, checking his face for any clues before gently putting a hand on Jim’s shoulder while he examines the machine at his side. 

“My back just aches a little.”

McCoy raises his eyebrow skeptically and huffs, giving his full attention to increasing Jim’s pain relievers. “Yeah, kicking all hell out of a warp core will do that to you.”

“How did you… I didn’t tell you…”

“Because all my years at medical school taught me that radiation poisoning doesn’t cause spinal cord trauma.” 

McCoy retrieves a chair from the corner of the room and sits next to the bed, discreetly checking whether his catheter needs emptying. Jim watches, aware that some part of him wants company, but a bigger part of him wants to be left alone. He rationalises that it’s normal for a doctor to check on every aspect of his patient’s care and that Bones has seen him in more embarrassing situations during their academy days. But he’s not drunk now, and having to rely on someone, especially his best friend, to help with something so basic yet so intimate makes him feel vulnerable. 

“I’ll be asleep soon. You don’t have to stay.”

“I know I don’t. But I’m going to, so shut up and sleep,” McCoy tells him, not unkindly. “It’s been either me or Spock every night and you haven’t complained so far.”

“Because I didn’t know! Wait… you or Spock have been here every night?” 

“Don’t sound so surprised. Some nights we both stayed. Now, I’m your best friend, but for some insane reason Spock seems to have developed some kind of emotional attachment to you. Just wait until I tell you how he caught Khan.”

McCoy sounds almost proud. Jim frowns, not sure what to do with the information. It fills his mind even though he tries to listen to what he is being told. The musical lilt of Bones’ voice fades as he drifts back to sleep.

***

Turning the lights in his apartment down to twenty percent, Spock closes his eyes, ensuring his breathing is at an even pace. The calming smell of incense fills the room as he begins to call forward the events of the day. It is logical to analyze them sequentially. Seeking clarity in order, he first recalls his morning appointment at Starfleet Headquarters. Further interviews with the Admiralty regarding the events of the recent mission to apprehend Khan were to be expected, as was scrutiny of the validity of his previously submitted reports following his emotionally compromised state. 

Spock’s desire to avoid diminishing the importance of justice for the sacrifices made by the crew, Admiral Pike and of course Jim helped him suppress his annoyance at being asked repeatedly to list the minutiae of the events that led to Jim lying in a hospital bed. There is a sixty-four point three percent chance that he will be called back to repeat the exercise or variations of it in order to assist in the prevention of similar future occurrences. Spock mentally locks the experience away, satisfied that he has processed it sufficiently. He focuses on his time spent at Starfleet Medical; first speaking with Doctor McCoy and then being present in the Captain’s room when he woke up.

The relief he experienced upon hearing Jim’s voice, on seeing him awake and being able to speak with him, was unlike anything he had experienced before. It almost made him afraid; the desire to be understood, to be accepted, to be wanted. Despite their history, Jim had given those gifts to Spock, and Khan had taken them away; taken Jim away. Spock’s anger at this had once again been a shameful display of human emotion; reason had been lost, just as he had lost Jim. He had always been too quick to anger. He is unmeasurable. Unable to balance the correct quantity of his two halves to make a sufficient whole. And yet Jim did not see this, or was illogical enough to ignore it. They trusted each other, worked closely together, with Jim making efforts to spend off-duty hours with him, actively wishing to eat meals together and play chess, or complete their daily reports in companionable silence. There is something with Jim that is not present in his relationship with Nyota. It is simpler and yet stronger. The guilt that he experiences knowing that if she had been lost, he would not have grieved as deeply is almost overwhelming.

Spock’s meditation is interrupted by the sound of his communicator. He asks the computer to increase the lights to seventy per cent as he reaches from his seated position on his mat to retrieve it from the small bedside table, expecting the message to be from Doctor McCoy, detailing the Captain’s current status. Their improved relationship since the creation of the serum is something Spock has come to value. Although he does not always appreciate the chief medical officer’s emotional outbursts, there is no-one else he would trust with the Captain’s life. He wonders if the doctor is concerned about an investigation into any breach of ethics, immediately deciding to speak in defense of his actions. Settling back down, he flips open his comm to find a message from Nyota.

 _> >_ _I just heard about Jim. I’m so relieved. I know we’ve both been insanely busy, but maybe we could visit Jim together tomorrow?_

He knows he has been allowing his responsibilities as acting Captain to take precedence over his personal relationship and is grateful to her for allowing him to work without requesting his attention to be diverted. Her behaviour in difficult circumstances has always been exemplary, unlike his own. Their time together since Khan was captured has been brief; under these circumstances, Spock finds disconnection to be easier than confrontation. Increasingly, he recognises the expressions on her face to be reminiscent of his mother’s when his speech or action had caused her pain. He does not wish to be the reason she is unhappy. Spock closes his mind to these thoughts. Her request for time together is not unreasonable and he can think of no logical reason to refuse.

>> _Affirmative. I am off duty at 18:00, should that be agreeable._

_> > Yes, I’ll meet you at 18:15 at the hospital. See you tomorrow._

_> > Goodnight, Nyota_

_> > Goodnight Spock_

He closes his communicator slowly, almost as if doing so will eliminate the guilt that weighs upon him. He frowns slightly at himself. Infinitely inadequate. He begins to focus on his breathing before attempting to meditate further.


	3. Chapter 3

“You need to be moving,” McCoy says, lifting Jim’s blankets, “and that means catheter out.”

Jim checks the wall-mounted chronometer. 07:30. “Are you even meant to be here?”

“You want someone else to do it?”

“You could leave it in.”

“I could, if I wanted to add urinary tract infections to the list of everything the hell else I’m testing you for.” 

“Will it hurt?”

“Not as much as a UTI. Now, breathe.”

It’s an uncomfortable sensation, but not painful, and over quickly. McCoy checks both his pain relievers, and the biobracelet on his wrist. As he became more stable, the monitoring equipment had been unplugged and replaced by a medical bracelet to allow him more freedom to move. The bracelet is synced up to a PADD so he can be monitored at all times. Satisfied that it is working correctly, McCoy then hands Jim the control panel so he can adjust the bed position, insisting that he needs to start eating and drinking before promising he’ll send in a nursing assistant with some oatmeal and orange juice for breakfast, and will be back himself at lunchtime so they can eat together. 

Jim watches as his meal is left on the wheeled table that is slightly out of his reach. He thanks the assistant, who returns his smile and leaves. Although he knows he should make the effort to eat, he has no appetite. The earthy, sweet smell filling the room reminds him of winter mornings. He’s thirsty, but not enough to try and bring the table closer. He wonders if it was left out of his reach on purpose as an incentive or a challenge, or whether it was just a mistake made by someone trying to hurry through their responsibilities. It feels personal. A tiny part of him knows this line of thought is ridiculous, that there’s no shame in asking for help. If the assistant was anything like Bones, she would be mortified he was thinking like this due to a failing on her part. The rest of him thinks he can’t do it.

He doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to feel the pain of a body that’s betraying him. He shifts his hip slightly and a stinging hot spark ignites his lower back. He immediately stops, knowing that the discomfort will soon be dulled if he stays still. If he doesn’t eat or drink then he won’t have to get up to use the bathroom. He’s still lying in the same position he woke up in, still hasn’t changed the gown he’s been wearing since fuck knows when.

 _You_ _died_ , he tells himself _._ _You shouldn’t be here_. People don’t come back from that. He remembers what Spock told him, back at the academy. He of all people should know that a captain cannot cheat death. 

The door to his room is opened. The assistant asks if he has finished. Jim answers yes; he just wasn’t hungry. She frowns slightly but looks sympathetically at him before picking up the tray and leaving. He knows he will be subjected to one of Bones’ lectures later, but that’s hours away yet. It’s just him now. He listens to the muted sounds of voices and footsteps as people go past, and wants to turn away. Life being lived so close to him feels almost obscene. When a nurse checks his pain relievers, he accepts the hypospray he is offered before the pain gets any worse. He closes his eyes. It’s easier to slip into that place where he’s almost asleep than it is to stay awake.

“Chicken soup,” McCoys announces, placing a tray on the table, “which you are going to eat, even if I have to feed you myself.” Jim sits up slightly, making an effort to be more alert. The aroma of the soup reminds him of being a child. When he was sick and his mother wasn’t off-planet, she would make him chicken broth. He hasn’t eaten it in years, but something makes him want to cling to the warmth he remembers. He resolves to take a few sips, if only to make Bones happy. McCoy pulls the table close so they can both eat from it, and fills the cup that has been standing next to the jug of water since it was brought in fresh with breakfast. “Drink this first,” he says, handing it to Jim. The weight of the glass is heavier than he feels able to hold. His co-ordination is a little off and his wrist dips slightly while he adjusts, aware that Bones is watching him intently. “It’ll make you feel better. Get your head clearer as well.” 

“I’m not thirsty.”

“Well, your vitals say different, and you look like crap. So drink. Unless you want me to stick an IV back in you.” 

Jim holds the edge of the cup to his mouth. Although the water isn’t cold, the sensation of liquid against the dryness of his lips is almost painfully soothing. He wants to drink, but that means he will need to move. Movement means pain and pain means he’s healing. He puts the glass down, ignoring the glare he receives in return.

“Maybe later.”

Bones sighs in exasperation. “The soup, then.” He waits for Jim to start before stabbing at his salad. Jim manages four spoonfuls before pushing the bowl away. 

“What’s wrong with it?”

It’s too thick. Coating his mouth and throat with memories. 

“I guess I’m just not hungry.”

“You’ve barely touched it.” 

Jim looks at him, wanting to explain but he doesn’t have the words. He shakes his head and looks down as he feels hot tears behind his eyes.

McCoy drops his fork and moves closer. 

“Hey. Hey, it’s okay, kid. Jim, come on.” He rests his hand on Jim’s forearm, knowing that he needs to give him time. Jim wants to talk to him; Bones is his best friend, but it would destroy him to know that Jim wishes above everything else that he had never woken up. They sit in silence for a few minutes, until he can meet McCoy’s eyes. McCoy gently removes his arm and leans back in his seat.

“He was right, you know,” Jim whispers.

“Who?”

“Pike. Before… he said I think the rules don’t apply to me. That I wasn’t ready for the chair. All those people, Bones. They trusted me and I got them killed.”

“Jim… don’t do this to yourself. No-one thinks that’s true. We saved you for a reason, dammit.”

“Yeah, well you shouldn’t have bothered.” The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them, and their impact hangs in the air. He’s never seen McCoy look so distressed. 

“Bones, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. I would have done the same, but… I don’t know… I don’t know how to do this.” His voice breaks and this time he can’t stop the tears.

McCoy takes his hand and squeezes reassuringly. “Yes you do. And we’re here to help you, Jim. Whatever you need, you know that.”

Jim squeezes his hand back before letting go and wiping his eyes. He nods almost to himself; an acknowledgement that he has heard what McCoy said, and to reaffirm that he understands he needs to accept everything that has happened.

“Pass me a drink?” It’s part apology, part compromise. 

McCoy hands him the water and Jim takes a few sips. He didn’t realise how thirsty he was. He finishes and asks for another. McCoy looks pleased. 

“You’re due for another dose of pain relievers and then I think we’ll get you into the shower. Get you freshened up for when Spock gets here later. Don’t want to offend his Vulcan sensibilities, and it’ll make you feel a little bit better, too.” He reaches for a hypo and applies it to Jim’s neck.

“What about your rounds?”

“Done this morning. Now stop worrying about my medbay and eat your damn crackers.” 

Jim manages to finish one. McCoy goes back to his salad until Jim feels ready to move. McCoy uses the control panel to lower the height of the bed before Jim slowly eases his legs over the side. The pain almost makes him want to stop but he knows he has to keep going. 

“If it’s too much I can get a chair. Don’t push yourself too far.” McCoy says, supporting his arm. Jim pushes his feet against the cold floor. He doesn’t want to move any more but knows that he has to. The longer he is immobile, the more painful it will be. He tries to stand, grabbing hold of McCoy’s elbow. He makes it a few inches before he has to sit back down.

“I can’t do it.”

“Yes, you can.”

Jim shakes his head, feeling the tiny bit of fight he had seep out of him. The intense hit of pain makes him breathless. 

“Not yet.” He gasps.

“Yes you can. Up. Come on, I’ve got you. Do you want a chair?”

He wants to say yes, but if he has to do this, every step is going to have to be earned.

“No.” 

He takes his time to get his breathing under control. Now he knows how bad the pain will be, he tries to prepare for it again. Inhaling sharply, he slowly stands, accepting McCoy’s arm as support. He’s as upright as he can be, and the pain isn’t getting any better. He looks at McCoy, pleading silently. _Please don’t make me do this._

McCoy’s voice is as reassuring as his hold. “One step at a time, Jim. We’ll do it together.”

Jim manages to slowly take three steps before it’s too much. 

“Bones…” He hates how helpless he sounds.

McCoy grabs his comm from his belt and calls for assistance. A nurse hurries in with a wheelchair. Jim sits dejected while McCoy ushers her out and pushes him to the private bathroom adjoining his room.

McCoy stops the chair in front of the door. “Let me help you up at least.”

“I’ll be alright,” he says quietly.

McCoy looks hesitant. “Take a rest if you need it. And I’ll be right outside the whole time.” 

Jim takes a deep breath and stands while McCoy keys in the access code. He slowly takes a few steps into the bathroom and sits on the closed toilet lid before beginning to undo the ties holding his gown together. It’s awkward to do it without moving his back muscles too much, and he has to stand to get to the last one. He manages and lets it drop to the floor. He reaches out for the handrail next to the shower and uses it to support himself as he moves forward. 

“Jim… you okay in there?”

“Yeah. Getting in the shower now.”

He activates the hot water and lets it soothe his muscles. Leaning forward, Jim supports himself against the cubicle door so that his lower back gets the full benefit of the jets. It’s the least pain he’s felt since waking up. He basks in the sensation, not wanting to move, and stays there for several minutes. Reaching for the soap, Jim starts to wash, trying not to move unnecessarily. Running a hand over his shoulder, he can feel bone where there was previously muscle. He returns the small bar back to its ledge and picks up the shampoo to quickly wash his hair. Before getting out, he allows himself a few more minutes of enjoying the warmth.

“There’s a towel and a clean gown on the shelf by the sink. Toothpaste and a brush in the holder. Leave your laundry on the floor, just this once,” McCoy says from his side of the door.

“Got it.” 

Jim dries off and gets dressed, then brushes his teeth, avoiding looking in the mirror for as long as he can. He grips the sink with one hand and meets his reflection. He doesn’t recognise the face looking back at him. Its skin is sallow, and there are dark bags under its hollow eyes. It looks exhausted in a way he never did. Broken, Jim thinks. _I look broken_.


	4. Chapter 4

Jim sleeps through most of their short visit, staying awake long enough to chat briefly with Nyota, telling her he is fine, as well as thanking her for her part in his recovery. Spock wonders if she notices that the smile does not quite reach his eyes. McCoy appears to detect it, however, explaining without being prompted that Jim is quick to tire as his sleeping patterns are fragmented. When the doctor warns that this too is something that is likely to continue, Spock makes a mental note to inquire about Jim’s progress as soon as he can speak privately with McCoy.

Leaving the medical centre together, Uhura asks Spock if he has time for them to talk. They walk to the viewing area by the shoreline, which is illuminated by the vibrant city across the bay. The moonlight reflects on the water, and the soft lighting along the walkway is unobtrusive. From this vantage point, there is almost no trace of the destruction wreaked by the crashing of the _Vengeance_. Spock stands a respectful distance from her and turns his attention from the view when she addresses him directly.

“He’s going to need you, you know. Now as much as ever. But it will be different, and you have to be ready.”

Spock looks at her in confusion.

“So I need you to know, Spock, I need you to know that this isn’t easy for me.” Her voice is clear but gentle. She pauses, and he does not doubt the sincerity of her words. She is still looking out across the water but turns to face him before continuing.

“I know it’s not an ideal time to say this, but there won’t ever be, and after everything that’s happened… it would be wrong for us to keep going.” 

She is being confusingly and uncharacteristically indirect. 

“Clarify.” 

“We aren’t what each other needs, Spock. It’s not fair on either of us. I want us to break up.” 

“Do you doubt my regard for you?”

“No, I don’t doubt your regard for me, and please, don’t doubt mine for you, but that’s just it. I think that we both deserve better than that. I saw what losing Jim did to you. I was there and I saw it. Even after everything that’s happened, everything with Nero, I’ve never seen you like that before. I think you need time to process the fact that he means more to you than you realize.”

He pushes down feelings of guilt, sadness and most shamefully of all, gratitude. She is treating him with a kindness he does not deserve. 

“It was never my intention to hurt you, Nyota.”

“I know. This,” she says, waving a hand between them, “being my decision, it kind of makes it easier. I wish it could have been different, but it’s not fair on either of us. I know I’ve had more time to get used to the idea than you have, and we both need some time apart, but it would mean a lot to me if we could still be friends.”

He does not know what the correct response should be. It is not logical to challenge her decision, despite human custom. Additionally, Spock finds that he does not wish to.

“Nyota...”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything right now. Take some time to make sure it’s what you want.” 

There is a small crease between her brows. She smiles softly, gently kissing his cheek before walking away. Through her touch, he feels no frustration or anger, only sadness.

Spock uses the time walking back to his apartment to think. He is at peace with the outcome of their conversation. Acknowledging this makes him uneasy. He is concerned that he did not provide something she required of him, and that he has failed her in some way. 

Their relationship lasted for one thousand three hundred and thirty-eight point three three four standard days, yet he doubts his ability to form and sustain a mutually meaningful connection with another being. His mental shields require strengthening. It is unacceptable that his mind is repeatedly distracted in this manner. 

He cannot stem the illogical flow of thoughts regarding his time at the Vulcan Learning Centre, where he was reminded daily that his Vulcan blood was too human. Or that for as long as he could remember, he has always known his human blood to be too Vulcan. He quickens his pace, needing to meditate urgently. He must not indulge in these emotions when he has a duty to Starfleet and the crew of the _Enterprise_. Reaching his apartment, Spock enters the unlock code and opens the door, proceeding to change into his robes before lighting the incense. The familiar routine of his ritual provides a small amount of balance as he closes his eyes and rests his fingers together.

Following his meditation, Spock makes a cup of tea and a bowl of vegetable soup using the synthesizer. He sits at the table while eating, checking his PADD to ensure he has no urgent messages that require his attention. A response has not been requested, but Spock has been copied into a request from Starfleet Command to Doctor McCoy to schedule the Captain’s debriefing now that he has regained consciousness. There is no doubt in Spock’s mind that such a request will prompt an outburst from the doctor that he would wish to share with Spock should they meet at the medical centre tomorrow. 


	5. Chapter 5

“Spock, come in here a second before you go to see Jim. And just a word of warning, he’s tired tonight so don’t expect to be in there for very long.” McCoy beckons him into his borrowed office. There are stacks of PADDs on the small desk, and the single bed that looks like it has been recently slept in. Spock remains standing, waiting as McCoy removes a bottle and two tumblers from a drawer. He offers one to Spock, who declines. McCoy shrugs, puts both on the table, and pours two fingers of bourbon into the glass closest to him.

“Well you’re welcome, but I will. Damn it, Spock, did you see the messages from those heartless bastards?! They want Jim up and ready yesterday. Well, he’s not ready. I won’t allow it, Spock, and you can’t either.” He points a finger at Spock’s chest before taking a gulp of his drink and putting it down on the desk. Spock has never known the doctor to be intoxicated while on duty and calculates the probability of this changing to be less than zero point zero three per cent. As such, he concludes it is not wise to exacerbate the doctor’s emotional state by asking whether he is now indeed off duty.

“Doctor, I understand your concern. However, the Captain is the commanding officer on a ship that engaged the Klingons in battle during a classified mission that resulted in the destruction of another Starfleet vessel. One that was commanded by the head of Starfleet. The impact of these actions upon the civilian population alone would warrant a formal inquiry. His testimony is of the utmost importance.”

“You’ve given a report, I’ve given a report, everyone on the damn ship has given them a report. Marcus is dead. Khan is back in cryostasis. A few more days aren’t going to make any difference. My priority is my patient and our friend, not Starfleet.” 

“Doctor-”

“No. It’s my responsibility to decide when he is fit enough to return to any kind of duty and I’m telling you exactly what I’m going to tell them; it’s not now.” McCoy angrily reaches for his bourbon and finishes the glass. 

Spock attempts to reason with him, knowing his efforts will be futile. “Command will insist on speaking to the Captain. This is something neither you nor I can prevent.” 

“Well, thank you for the insight, Spock. I’m sure as hell not going to let it happen until he’s ready. And don’t go mentioning any of this to him. If he asks, change the subject.”

“For what purpose?”

“Because what happened weeks ago for us is three days old for him. It’s raw, and he needs time to deal with it, not have his head filled with bureaucratic bullshit.”

“I shall defer to your expertise, Doctor.”

“You do that,” McCoy says as Spock leaves.

***

Jim is exhausted. Scotty visited him that morning, eager to discuss the refit of the _Enterprise_ , followed by what felt like all shifts of the bridge crew. Bones argued with him that it was too much, too soon; but Jim insisted. He owed it to the crew to be available if they wanted to see him. Reluctantly, Bones allowed them in, no more than two at a time and with a warning to keep it brief. Right now, it was difficult for Jim to be what they needed; he had always worked hard to be both a captain and a friend, but he felt qualified to be neither. He couldn’t really remember what conversations he had been involved in; it felt like an endless cycle of ‘how are you’ and ‘we’re all so glad you’re okay, sir’ as he fought to keep his answers light, hoping to convince them he was okay, even if he couldn’t convince himself. 

Glancing at the chronometer, Jim chews absently on his bottom lip, hoping Spock will arrive soon. He doesn’t have to hide anything from him; he hasn’t for a long time. They can sit in silence for hours, completing paperwork or playing a particularly complex game of chess, and Jim will feel more comfortable than he ever has alone. It had taken time to learn Spock, to understand the nuances and complexities, the intensities sometimes barely hidden. It had taken time, but it had not been difficult. Somewhere along the way, without Jim being able to pinpoint the exact moment, Spock had become a fundamental part of his life. More than a colleague, more than his first officer, more than a friend. 

He hears the doors to his room open and looks up, eyes meeting Spock’s. Jim smiles a little, welcoming him as he walks closer to where Jim is resting. Using the control panel, Jim adjusts the bed so that he can sit up without too much pain.

“Hey Spock.”

“Good evening, Captain,” he answers. There is a seat available but he chooses to remain standing. He rests his hands behind his back comfortably. 

“I don’t think I’ll be much company tonight, but you’re welcome to stay if you want. I think Scotty told everyone I was lonely and to come visit. Sulu and Chekov were the last to leave about a half hour ago. I’ve gotta say, I thought the Admiralty would have sent someone to take a statement or something by now. I’m guessing they called you in already?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“I have given four accounts to the panel and submitted my reports as requested. The investigation should not currently require your direct involvement.” 

“So you know how many died? Their names?”

Spock pauses before answering, but maintains eye contact.

“I do not believe this line of discussion to be of benefit to you.” 

“Of benefit to me? Spock, I’m not asking because it benefits me. I’m asking because it’s my duty to write to every one of those families to explain how brave their child, or their brother, or their sister, or their husband, or their wife was in giving their lives.”

“Captain, I would be honoured to-”

“No, Spock, I appreciate whatever you’re going to offer to do, but this is something I _need_ to do. It’s my responsibility as their commanding officer to say thank you for their sacrifice.”

He hesitates before continuing; the pain of new emotional wounds scratching at the scars of old. There is no reason for Jim to talk about his childhood memories, but as they play out in his mind, he gives voice to them. 

“My mom… the letter she got about my dad… it means a lot to her. It’s one of the things she always used to take with her whenever she was off-planet. Like it was too important to be left behind.”

Jim only meets Spock’s gaze after he stops speaking, and is comforted by the compassion he finds there.

“I understand the importance of the task, and respectfully offer my assistance should you require it.”

“Thank you.” Jim reaches out and pats his upper arm once. 

“Could you send me the information and arrange for a PADD to be brought to me tonight?”

“I will ensure the data is sent, but I do not believe Doctor McCoy would authorise such a request.”

“So don’t tell him,” Jim says, a little too sharply. He exhales loudly and shakes his head. “Sorry. Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out.”

They are silent for a few moments until Jim speaks again, barely above a whisper. 

“Spock… the memorial services. Did I miss them? Did I miss Pike’s?”

He can tell by the small movements of Spock’s facial muscles that the answer is yes. Jim drops his head and looks at his hands.

Spock places his hand tentatively on Jim’s shoulder.

“The Admiralty wished to follow regulation.” 

Jim laughs bitterly, and Spock drops his arm back to his side. “Of course they did. Gotta be seen to clean up their mess somehow.”

“To what are you referring?”

“The whole mission, Spock. Marcus being a lying son of a bitch. My blindness to anything other than revenge ended up getting half the crew killed and probably started a war with the Klingons…”

“Your reasoning is illogical. Admiral Marcus violated every regulation he vowed to uphold”. 

“And isn’t that exactly what I did when I violated the Prime Directive, Spock? Violated the regulation _I_ vowed to uphold?”

“He exploited your compromised emotional state-”

“Didn’t I use the same tactic on you to get command of the Enterprise against Nero? I’m as bad as he was! Neither of us really gave a shit about the consequences of our actions. Pike knew it and so did Marcus. He played me like I played you.” His voice is quiet with sadness, still not able to forgive himself for something he has repeatedly apologised for.

“Negative. Your actions, although unorthodox, were to save lives, not to end them. Admiral Pike recognised this, as do I. Every officer knows the risks of engagement associated with accepting assignment aboard a starship and you must not hold yourself responsible for the loss of life. You excelled at maintaining control of yourself and the crew in the face of certain death. Your suitability as captain is not under scrutiny.” 

“Well, it should be. I fuck things up, Spock, it’s what I do.”

“Jim, this line of thought is illogical. The discussion is becoming circular in nature and I am unwilling to proceed any further when there is no advantage being gained by either side. Allow me to call Doctor McCoy.”

It’s like flipping a switch. Instant and irrational anger explodes within him; guilt, pain, frustration, and exhaustion all collide. A tiny part of him knows that this is just Spock’s way; that he is trying to help him, but all he hears is rejection and scorn, and it cuts deep, especially now, especially from Spock. 

Jim keeps his voice dangerously low, the feeling of being both not enough and still too much burning inside him.

“What the…? I don’t need a goddamn babysitter because you can’t ‘manage’ me. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m your fucking senior officer. No one is forcing you to be here, and I’m sorry if I’m wasting your precious time. You know what, Spock? Go. Get the fuck out. Just _leave_.”

“Capt-”

“Get. Out.” 

A quiet alarm sounds from Jim’s biobracelet and McCoy rushes in seconds later.

“What the hell happened?” he asks, looking from Spock to Jim as he picks up a tricorder.

Jim is silent while McCoy scans him, avoiding all eye contact.

Spock leaves the room without looking back.


	6. Chapter 6

After almost two months in the medical centre and seemingly endless monitoring and observations, Jim is well enough to be discharged as long as he continues with the exercises given to him by the physiotherapist and submits to bi-monthly blood tests. He has been debriefed, and provided logs and statements as requested. Khan is now nothing more than a highly classified ghost story, and Marcus posthumously dishonorably discharged.

Eighty-seven condolence letters have been written and sent, although Jim feels that he should have written to everyone in the now-levelled city that had lost someone they love due to him. McCoy tries to raise the subject of counselling more than a few times, but Jim steadfastly refuses. He is slowly dealing with it; as the physical pain decreases, he feels more equipped to mentally process everything that happened. Not wholly willing to be defeated by all the negative feelings he has been struggling with, he submits to an order that he undergo psychiatric evaluation, which he passes. Whether is it due to the unprecedented circumstances, his own sheer stubbornness or a combination of both, Jim is unsure, but it feels like a small victory over the maelstrom inside. Command sent a request that he take part in a press conference that morning, and he appeared to do a good enough job of successfully charming everyone, even if he had deflected the worst of the questions to the representative from Starfleet PR. Still not ready to fully toe the line, he makes a mental note to avoid the news for the next few days so he can avoid reading about Jim Kirk, hero of the Federation.

Not for the first time, he wonders why Spock is staying away. They have fought before and worked through it. After he had been marooned on Delta Vega, after he had provoked Spock into attacking him on the bridge; they had always talked through their problems but Jim hadn’t seen or heard from Spock outside of the command chain for weeks. That should be the important thing; that they could still be professional, despite whatever else was going on. The thought that he might see a transfer request from Spock whenever he picked up his PADD made him feel sick. Together they had navigated through mutual dislike to a precarious working relationship which had then developed into a close friendship. Spock was the calm to his chaos. It shouldn’t work; the conceited human and the unfeeling Vulcan, but Jim recognised tenderness and vulnerability in Spock, as well as the intelligence and tenacity that made him an essential part of the command team, and a formidable chess opponent. He had started to let himself hope that Spock had seen something worthwhile in him, too. Whatever it was, it obviously wasn’t enough.

“So are you _ever_ going to tell me what happened with Spock? I thought he’d be here, today of all days,” McCoy asks, passing a shirt to Jim. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Jim answers, folding up his dress greys and pulling on a long-sleeved black regulation undershirt. His black pants hang slightly loose off his hips, but he’s beginning to regain some of the weight he lost. 

“Mmmhmm. Either he’s avoiding you or you’re avoiding him. So what was it? You decided to tell him? You know, I never thought I would say this, but I think I preferred it when I couldn’t get you to shut the hell up about him.” 

Although they can’t be overheard, Jim still lowers his voice. “It was a stupid, one-sided thing. You know how hard I worked to hide it, especially because it would hurt Uhura. Unless you told him, he doesn’t know.”

McCoy takes the clothes from Jim, putting them in a duffel and slinging it over his shoulder. 

“Bullshit. I’ve seen you have a ‘thing’ for someone; this is not that. You flirted your way around the academy but I can use one hand to count the number of people you’ve actually let get close enough to mean anything, and still have digits left over.”

“We’re doing this now?” Jim mumbles.

“Yes, we’re doing this now. Stop being an idiot. Last time you hit the Romulan ale, you told me that you had a connection with him that you’ve never had with anyone else. Some people spend their whole lives trying to find that, and you’re not going to fight to keep it?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It’s as difficult as you make it.”

Jim shakes his head, wanting to change the subject. 

“I can carry my own bag,” he says, holding out a hand.

The expression on McCoy’s face tells Jim he has got his wish, for now.

“You’ve had enough to deal with for one day. The transport should be here now. Say goodbye to your room.”

Jim unclips his biobracelet, placing it on the bed before taking a final look around. He’s not sad to be leaving, but he’s got used to the sounds and routines of the hospital. Today was the first time he had left the hospital grounds, and he was dismayed at how fragile the first few steps outside had made him feel.

They get into the car that is parked outside the reception area. McCoy is driving them to his apartment, insisting that it’s too far for Jim to walk yet. He also refuses to let Jim stay at his own place, arguing that he’s not ready to be completely on his own, and that a destroyed city was not a healthy thing for him to see every time he looked out of the window.

The apartment is less open plan than his own captain’s accommodation, with a bedroom and bathroom down a small hallway off the kitchen. McCoy kept an apartment in the medical centre staff block, so the space is designed to be functional rather than aesthetically pleasing. McCoy insisted on keeping their old pull-out couch, and each time he visits, Jim is reminded of their days at the academy. 

“You’re in the bedroom,” McCoy says, walking through to drop off Jim’s bag.

“I’ll be fine out here,” Jim answers, resting a hand on the back of the couch.

“No, I’m on duty all week and you’re still meant to be taking it easy.” McCoy makes coffee using the synthesizer and brings two mugs into the living area where Jim is now sitting.

“Have you decided what you’re going to do yet?”

“No.” 

“Did Scotty give you any idea of how long the repairs are going to take?”

“He sent through some initial plans a few days ago, said it should take around seven or eight months.” 

“That is a long time to sit still.”

“I know. Komack offered me a temporary position at the Academy and I turned him down.”

“What? Why?”

Jim shrugs and sips his coffee. “It’s not me. I’m no teacher.”

“Maybe not, but you need to find something to make you want to get out of bed. Can’t have the captain of a starship spending the best part of a year rotting in my apartment.”

“I’m not rotting. Maybe I’m not even a captain anymore.”

“Jim, come on, you don’t mean that. You just need to get your head together and you’ll bounce back.” 

Jim shakes his head. “I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if I want to. I took the psych eval because I owed it to Pike, to you, to Spock, to everyone on board that ship and everyone who gave their life. To do better. To be better. But I can’t promise that. I can’t promise that it won’t happen again.”

McCoy rests his mug on the table and leans forward.

“I know there’s things you aren’t telling me, but this is everything you’ve worked for the whole time I’ve known you. No matter how screwed up you feel right now, Jim, you _are_ a captain, and a damn good one. I wouldn’t want to serve under anyone else.”

Jim is humbled by the sincerity in his voice. “Thank you, Bones.”

“What would you do instead? This is your life.”

“I don’t know. I don’t have a grand plan. I joined Starfleet on a dare. Pike said to me that if I was half the man my father was, Starfleet could use me. They sure did that. Starfleet had no idea what Marcus was doing. They had no idea what I was doing, and now I’m meant to be this heroic posterboy for the Federation? That clusterfuck of a mission was hardly peacekeeping, and only humanitarian because I had Spock to rein me in.”

“Is that really how you see it? Because that’s not what happened. Let me tell you how it played out. You learnt a lesson. A hard lesson that no matter whatever bullshit bravado you use to get yourself through, you are as vulnerable and as breakable as the rest of us, and it hurts. That doesn’t make you a bad person, or a bad leader. It makes you a good one. Marcus dragged us all into a conspiracy because he could twist the good in you for his own ends. He took advantage of you, of Spock, of all of us. All this is on him, not on you. You did the very best you could, Jim. The whole crew was behind you. He was a corrupt son of a bitch who was hell-bent on starting a war. He took Pike from you, Jim. Don’t let him take anything else.”

Jim looks away, fighting to keep his composure. It takes a minute before he can trust his voice not to break when he speaks.

“Bones…”

“Look, I can’t pretend to know exactly what it’s like for you, or what is going on in your head, but you need to find some way to work it out. Does Spock know about any of this?”

Jim is silent.

“Is that what you two are fighting about?”

“We aren’t fighting.”

“So what are you doing then?”

“I don’t know. We argued and he left.”

“ And that’s it? What happened, exactly?”

“The short version is that he called me too pig-headed to listen to him and I told him to leave.”

“He’s not completely wrong, you know.”

Jim swishes the almost-cold coffee around his mug.

“Yeah, well, there you go.”

“Must have been some fight.”

“Look, Bones, I don’t really want to talk about it. He was trying to help me and I lost my temper. I obviously messed up one too many times for him.”

“Have you even tried to apologise?”

Jim tries to keep the guilt from his face, but knows instantly from McCoy’s glare that he has failed.

“Well, may I suggest that as a starting point? Listen, do you remember anything from back in the medbay when I told you about how Spock caught Khan?”

Jim shakes his head.

McCoy rolls his eyes. 

“I’ve never known anything like it. You think he lost it with you on the bridge after Nero destroyed Vulcan? That was nothing. He was brutal, Jim. Broke Khan’s arm in three places. It shouldn’t have even been possible. Uhura had to beam down and stop Spock from killing him. If anyone understands about losing control, it’s Spock. You honestly think he would give up on you over something like that?”

“I don’t know.”

“He wouldn’t. Jim, I’m telling you. He didn’t leave the lab the whole time I was working on the serum, and he was with you every day while you were under. I was worried about him. Hell, I thought about speaking to M’Benga about the possibility of requesting a healer from New Vulcan. It’s got to be something else. ”

Jim shrugs. “Whatever it is, Bones, he doesn’t want me to know. He wants to keep it professional. I’m respecting his choice, okay?”

“It’s not even worth a comm message?”

“Can you just leave it? Please.”

“Okay, okay. Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, Jim”

“I know.”

“See how easy that was?”

Jim aims a cushion at McCoy’s head as he gets up to take their empty mugs to the kitchen.

***

Jim lies in bed, unable to sleep. He types message after message on his comm but sends none.


	7. Chapter 7

Spock’s involvement with the inquiry has been greatly reduced now that the focus has shifted to strengthening the protocols and security measures to ensure any future events are an improbability. He mostly fills his days supervising experiments in the labs at the Academy; covering for other professors who are needed elsewhere, but the hours that he is required to be in attendance are decreasing, and Spock calculates that he will not be required in this capacity in seventeen days. With the knowledge that this would be the logical outcome when he accepted the position, he has also been working on a computer program to assist with locating and cataloguing Vulcan artifacts that were off-planet during the destruction of his homeworld. 

There is a quiet desperation within him as he learns that filling the time does not soothe the sting of loneliness. He meditates, repeatedly attempting to make sense of his feelings, of how his words caused such hurt, how he managed to misunderstand what was required of him so completely.

Logic tells him that Jim’s experience is unprecedented and therefore cannot be quantified, and as such he manages his tasks to allow for a degree of flexibility should Jim ask to see him. This course of action also allows him to report to Starfleet headquarters should he be called, despite the fact that he has not been asked to attend any interviews given by the captain. There has been no communication between them aside from copies of official messages on his PADD that required both of them to be in receipt of the information. It has been thirty-nine point seven days since the captain dismissed Spock from his bedside, and the doctor has invited Spock to meet with him socially on five occasions in that time period. He declines each request.

Spock is uncertain whether Doctor McCoy has been informed by the captain as to the deterioration of their personal relationship, as he is still receiving daily updates via messages on his communicator, and consequently Spock knows that the doctor is confident that the captain will be well enough to leave the medical centre soon. The news compels him to contact Ambassador Spock to offer assistance in establishing of the colony on New Vulcan. He sends a request at the communications terminal on the desk in an alcove of his quarters, and waits for it to connect.

“Mister Spock. I am pleased to hear from you.” 

The warmth of his greeting helps to settle the anxiety that had started to creep up from the pit of Spock’s stomach. 

“Ambassador.”

“I trust that Jim is recovering well.”

“I believe that to be correct.”

The ambassador’s tone changes to one of confusion. “You have not visited Jim since we last spoke?”

“Affirmative. It has, however, been brought to my attention that the captain should be discharged from the Starfleet Medical Centre presently, and shall consequently continue with his command duties. Should you require it, I will be available to assist you on New Vulcan while the Enterprise is undergoing repairs. I am making considerable progress with the program we discussed previously, and as the only instrument I require is a PADD, I am not limited to remaining on Earth in order to continue.”

“Your offer is appreciated but unnecessary. My previous statement regarding the good fortune of you being able to be two places at once still stands. Forgive the apparent lack of logic in my next question, particularly when I have already made you aware of my vow to never give you information that could potentially alter your destiny, but may I enquire as to why you have not sought confirmation of Jim’s condition?”

Spock does not respond. Instead he observes the concern in the ambassador’s face. When the elder Vulcan continues speaking, his voice is gentle with kindness. “Spock, should there be something troubling you, I will listen without judgement. You have faced losses that to me would have been unbearable at your age, and while our lives have taken different paths, there is nothing you can tell me that should cause you to feel shame.”

Spock considers the continued benefit of concealment. It has been increasingly unsuccessful. He closes his eyes for a moment and then allows himself to verbalise the thoughts he has been trying to repress. 

“I am developing a pattern of failure, despite my efforts to avoid it. My attempt to provide clarity when the captain would not listen to reason was unsuccessful and resulted in his demand that I depart. I am honouring his request.” 

Spock is conscious that his overly-simple reasoning is a painful exercise in avoidance, and the knowledge that Jim is displeased with him weighs heavily on his mind. He of all people should know that anger is a display of vulnerability. 

“You are still navigating your place amongst the realities of the world around you, as is he. Do not allow misunderstandings and perceived failures to deprive you of the remarkable experiences you will share together.” 

He is emboldened by his counterpart’s words. 

“Ambassador, I assure you my failures are not merely perceived. My behaviour after the death of the captain was no less than shameful. I am troubled that his loss provoked a response that was greater than that caused by the death of my mother and the destruction of my planet. I increase my time spent in meditation but in this instance, I cannot reconcile logic and emotion, and find myself considering the peace offered by the attainment of kolinahr.”

The ambassador listens intently and pauses before responding.

“Attempting to purge all emotion may not provide the answers you seek. Your human half will always know there is something missing. Do not disregard the importance of that side of your heritage. It is as intrinsic as the Vulcan in you. Reactions to loss cannot be quantified, and each instance is unique. The worth of your feelings for your mother and your planet is not lessened by the magnitude of your grief at losing Jim.” 

“It is illogical to grieve for what is not lost. Our relationship was not without its perplexities, yet he did not allow this to deter him. The captain broke the Prime Directive to save my life. I could not break the glass to save his. He reached for me but I could not connect. I could not ease his fear, his pain. During his last moments, he gave the Ta’al. He offered me comfort. I could not control the feeling of injustice for all that was lost with his passing before I could tell him that I too return the sentiment. I am again conflicted. I am incapable of fully understanding what is required of me as a friend, or as a romantic partner, and unworthy of the responsibility that accompanies such relationships.” 

“Spock, as you are trusting me, I would like to share something with you also. It is illogical of me to desire to change that which has already passed, and yet I wish I had been bold enough to share my feelings sooner with those who matter. It took me many years to realise that my Jim was my t’hy’la. I implore you not to abandon the possibility that your Jim may be the same for you.”

Spock cannot think of an appropriate response. He thanks the ambassador and ends the transmission. He does not try to meditate, but instead remains seated in front of the console. 

He is still there when the sun rises.


	8. Chapter 8

Unable to spend another minute refreshing the messages on his PADD and communicator, Jim closes his eyes and lets his mind wander. He needs _something_ to focus on. Feeling too much or too little is dangerous, but sometimes he thinks it’s better than stagnating. He spent a long time drifting, but that changed when he enlisted. It had come to mean everything to him, and then it was taken away. He’d read stories of people that had near-death experiences, about how it gave them a renewed appreciation for life. He was still waiting to feel the grateful relief of survival that he heard so much about. Instead, he had struggled, feeling cheated and angry and lost a lot of the time. He still can’t fully shake the echo of being in the chamber. It deafens him sometimes. He remembers the fever flooding through him, knowing he was being destroyed inside and out. Wondering if the emotions he saw running through Spock were a hallucination. He hopes not. Reaching for Spock, trying to touch him, trying to tell him, and failing; it was purely selfish but if there was any chance it was real then it wasn’t fair that it took this to make them realise. Sometimes he is so tired, it feels like he is existing in static and that the world outside of his head is slightly out of reach.

These feelings take him over when he spends too much time stuck in his own head, leave him empty and lost. There is a blackness that he’s always trying to outrun and it’s exhausting. Occasionally he thinks he might be starting to make sense of everything, but on days like this, it feels like any progress is slipping away.

He rubs his hand over his face, stands up, and stretches. The ghost of an ache still runs through his body, months after kicking the failed core housing back into alignment. He doesn’t regret turning down the Academy position, but he’s beginning to feel restless. His mother had messaged him for the first time in years to say she was glad he was okay. She also mentioned that if he needed to get away, the family house in Riverside was empty. She made a point of emphasising that she was stationed at the newest starbase in the Delta Quadrant so he wouldn’t need to see her, and Sam had made a home on Earth Colony II with Aurelan. It was her way of caring. Things had been difficult between them since he could remember; she was full of love until she wasn’t. Whenever she was off-planet when he was a kid, Uncle Frank was left in charge, but he died when Jim was in tenth grade. Sam had cleared out before that. Jim hadn’t been back to Riverside since the morning he gave his bike away and boarded the shuttle. Maybe some time away would be a good thing. 

***

“Do house maintenance, plant a vegetable garden, oversee the repairs on your ship. Just do something to make you feel like a functioning member of society again. Clear your head and get out of the city. Try it for a couple of months, then you can come back and chew my ear off about what an awful time you’ve had while some of us try to deal with an outbreak of Roylan influenza.” 

McCoy swirls the whiskey around his glass but doesn’t take his eyes off Jim. Each sentence is punctuated with a pointed finger although his tone is gentle. Jim looks up from his drink but remains silent, thinking it over. He takes a slow sip. Before he finishes swallowing, McCoy drains his glass and picks up the bottle, heading towards the kitchen.

“What about my blood tests?” Jim asks.

“You aren’t due for another two weeks - I’ll arrange something, and I can fill you a prescription for pain medication before you leave. There’s nothing keeping you here, Jim. Go and get your head back in the clouds. ”

Jim thinks back to all those nights in Iowa he spent looking up instead of inside himself. Imagining what was out there, not sure what he was chasing but knowing that watching the stars felt like he was escaping something. He does miss the view.

“There’s transport schedules in the box by the vidplayer. Comm me when you get there.” McCoy calls from the bathroom. 


	9. Chapter 9

McCoy is waiting, leaning against the wall as Spock leaves the science lab. There is no other way out of the building, and so Spock walks purposefully through the door.

“Spock! According to the lab schedule on the computer, that’s you finished for the day. Can you spare me a half hour? There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

“Very well, Doctor. We can talk on the way to my apartment.” Spock says, leading the way.

McCoy increases his pace to keep up. “Good. We can’t use mine because Jim is there. He’s staying with me. Like I told you the last time I commed you.”

“I am aware. I wish to thank you for keeping me updated of his situation while he was in the medical centre.”

“No need, Spock, you deserve to know how he’s doing. I would have told you in person, but I never got the chance.”

“My time has been-”

“Yeah, I know, you don’t have to explain, Spock. We both take our duties seriously.”

“That we do. You wished to talk to me?” 

“It’s about Jim, but I’d rather wait until we are in private.”

“It is a personal matter?”

McCoy looks at Spock and quirks an eyebrow. “No, I thought I’d hire a holoboard down at the quad and makes sure everybody knows.”

Spock chooses to ignore the comment.

“Are you at liberty to share personal information about the captain?”

“Well, you are his first officer and in my professional opinion, you need to know. So yes, I am. You still are, aren’t you?”

“I am still what?”

“His first officer?”

“That is correct.” Spock answers as they enter his building.

“Good. Because I have a job for you.”

Spock stops in front of his apartment, using the thumb scanner and keys in the access code to open the door. He invites the doctor to take a seat and offers refreshment as is the human custom, but both are declined. 

“There is something you wish me to assist you with, Doctor?”

“Yeah. I’m up to my eyeballs in crew medicals, and now that Starfleet has opened the medical centre to anyone needing treatment after Khan took out half the city, there’s no way in hell I can get any leave. I’ve convinced Jim that he should go back to Riverside. He needs to get away from here, and being so close to the shipyard might help him fall back in love with the _Enterprise_ again. I want you to go and keep an eye on him.”

“You wish me to observe his behaviour and report any anomalies to you.”

“Not exactly. I don’t want you to spy on him, just make sure he gets his head straight and stays out of trouble. I also need you to make sure he gets his blood samples to me twice a month. And it would be a good way to help with the refit of the ship, wouldn’t it? Making sure all the lab equipment gets set up just how you like it. God knows I’m not going to sign off the med bay until I’ve made sure I’m damn well happy with it.” 

Spock looks skeptically at McCoy.

“Listen, as his first officer, regulation states that your functions include serving as the captain’s principal advisor. He needs you, Spock.”

“Should you wish to quote regulation, Doctor, then you are no doubt aware that another of a first officer’s responsibilities is to implement the captain’s orders. The captain told me to leave. I obeyed. He has not rescinded this order. Therefore I can only conclude that your assumption that he requires me is incorrect.”

“Jesus, Spock. So you didn’t see eye to eye, he lost his temper. It’s not the first time either of you have done it. Tell me, last time you saw him, he didn’t seem a little off to you? His behaviour wasn’t out of character? It was like every other time you’ve pissed him off?”

Spock thinks for a moment, but McCoy continues before he can answer.

“He’s grieving. He was angry and heartbroken and guilty, and all the shit that goes along with it, Spock. He took it out on you; now I’m not saying he was right, I’m saying that you need to allow for the fact that he was in pain, and somewhere along the line, everything got mixed up and here we are. Jim Kirk is a stubborn pain in everyone’s ass, but you’ll never find anyone who will give more of himself or fight harder for you. He’s struggling. No-one faces a situation like that thinking they will survive and then has to deal with the consequences. He needs his friends. He can’t do it alone, no matter how much he tries to pretend otherwise.”

A ripple of hope runs through as Spock concludes that the doctor’s reasoning is sound. He wants to take the chance being offered to him. He almost does. Almost.

“Doctor, I cannot disobey a direct order.”

McCoy sighs audibly and alters his strategy. 

“Spock, do you trust my professional opinion?” 

“Of course.”

“And don’t we now have a respect for each other that goes beyond that?”

“We do.”

“Okay, then as chief medical officer, trust me when I’m telling you that it is a gray area whether Jim was fit to make any command decisions while he was in my medbay. I monitored him carefully and let him do the things that helped him begin to make sense of what happened, but I can’t control what comes out of his mouth. Believe me when I say to you that him telling you to leave was not an order, and believe me when I tell you that he does want to see you.”

Spock examines the doctor’s face. His expression as serious as when they were waiting to see the success of the serum. Spock's resolve finally splinters.

“I do not have the captain’s coordinates.”

Briefly, there is a triumphant glint in McCoy’s eye.

“Don’t worry about that, I’ll comm you the details and let Jim know to expect a guest. And Spock, I’m trusting you with him. Don’t make me regret it.”


	10. Chapter 10

It’s an early evening in May when Jim steps out of the cab, stretches his tight back muscles, slings his duffle over his shoulder and walks down the gravel path to the farmhouse. The fields on either side are ploughed, courtesy of a long-standing agreement with a neighbouring farm that goes back to before he was born. The sound of birdsong accompanies his steps, and the air smells of hot, damp grass. He briefly wonders what Spock would make of Riverside and thinks about asking him to come and check on the refit, but he was probably busy teaching at the academy again, or maybe he had taken Uhura to New Vulcan. Jim dismisses that line of thought, not wanting to focus on it until he has to. 

Looking at the house, the once-white wooden exterior of both storeys is grayer than he remembers, and from where he stands, he can see that the back porch is still up, even if there are no seats on it. If it gets too hot in the house, maybe he could drag a couch outside. 

There’s is a light coating of dust on his boots and the hem of his jeans. It’s not unbearably warm, but he needs a glass of water. Jim thumbs the scanner and keys in the access code that unlocks the door and is mildly surprised it still works, half-expecting his mother to have changed it, seeing as he didn’t even come home to get his stuff before he left. Sending her a comm message when he had a spare five minutes after he got to San Francisco had just been easier on both of them.

Stepping inside, it smells a little stale, so he leaves the door open while he dumps his bag in the living room. It’s slightly gloomy but he can still see the tiny dust particles in the air from where his duffel landed on the couch cushion. He pulls up the blinds to let in the last of the sunlight, opening one of the windows before turning round to take in his surroundings. The multi-panelled wooden walls and stone fireplace are a world apart from his quarters on the _Enterprise_. He spent so long trying to escape from here that he can’t feel nostalgic for the past, but it doesn’t feel like he’s trapped anymore. Jim closes the front door, then takes a left from the hallway into the kitchen. The wood and stone theme runs through the whole house, a mixture of warm browns and grey-blue slate, contrasting against the white kitchen units. He runs the faucet, smiling slightly at the familiar squeak, before grabbing a glass from the cupboard. The water is pleasantly cool as it fills the glass, and he drinks half of it quickly before getting a refill, leaning against the sink to sip it as he pulls out his comm.

_> > I forgot how quiet it is here_

_> > Good. You’re meant to be relaxing_

_> > Feels weird to be back_

_> > It will do. I’m on shift in three minutes and there’s an outbreak of Andorian shingles so unpack and we can catch up later_

Jim closes his comm and smiles at his best friend’s ability to mother-hen him from almost two thousand miles away. Draining his glass, he goes back into the living room to close the window and reclaim his bag before asking the house computer to turn on the lights and heading upstairs to his old room. 

Everything is as he left it. The bed, the bookcase, the music system he rigged up so that he could play it everywhere in the house, it’s all there. He strips the bed, leaving the dirty linen in a pile in the hall to be washed later, and grabs a fresh set out of the linen closet down by the bathroom. His mom still uses the same detergent she did when he was growing up. After making up his bed, Jim starts to go through the old clothes in the wardrobe to make room for the ones he brought with him. He throws jeans and t-shirts into the washing pile, along with some plaid shirts until he has a full load, then unpacks his PADD and the medication Bones gave him; a series of hypos for pain relief, although he’s needing them less as the weeks go by, and some to help him sleep. He’s refused to use them up to now, insisting that he didn’t need them, but Bones knows he’s always had a fractured sleeping schedule, ever since their first semester together.

He grabs a book from the shelf, sticking it under his elbow as he takes the laundry down and starts the cleaning processor. Selecting a baked potato from the synthesiser, he reads while eating dinner, but is done after half of the plate is empty. He still hasn’t got much of an appetite back, preferring plain and simple food over anything too rich. Remembering that Bones didn’t give him anything to use to take a reading of his blood, Jim sends off a comm message before rubbing at his eyes. Most of the day spent on a shuttle and then eating something warm has made him feel tired, but he manages to read a few pages before falling asleep.

***

Waking early the next morning, Jim pulls on jeans and an old white t-shirt and spends a few hours listening to all his old playlists while wandering around the house and making a list of things to get in town later. The songs are mostly classical, from the late twentieth century, and Jim is pleased at how many of the lyrics he remembers. He’d set playlists up for Mom and Sam too, during the rare times they had gotten along for more than a few days. There was even one for Frank, but he only listened to his own. Grabbing a coffee from the synthesiser, he goes out into the back yard, winding his way through the grass that skims his lower thighs and ignoring the colourful, overflowing flowerbeds. His attention is focused on the small wooden outbuilding. Unlocking the door, he finds what he is looking for inside.

Carefully removing its dust sheet, the PX70 stands proud. He’d heard the stories of his dad driving it with his mom on the back, how it terrified her, and she had begged Jim not to get a motorcycle of his own. He didn’t listen, of course. He runs his fingers over the handlebar, almost tempted to try and start her up. Back when he first started riding, he didn’t even try to go out on his dad’s bike. He wanted something of his own, that he owned completely, and he worked a series of badly-paid jobs to earn the credits to pay for it. Now he doesn’t want to ride it becausehe doesn’t want to risk damaging something else his father loved. He covers her over again and locks up before going back into the main house. He’ll walk into town tomorrow.

Toeing off his boots and socks, Jim lies down on one of the couches, making sure his PADD and comm are in reach in case he gets any messages on either, and tries to let the warmth of the afternoon lull him into sleep. The house is silent and he can’t shut his mind off. It was a mistake coming back here. This house, like everywhere else, is full of ghosts. He closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing. In, count to three, and out. In, count to three, and out. A knock at the door pulls him out of his mantra. He holds his breath, not sure if he imagined the sound. When it happens again, he exhales and slowly swings his legs around so that he is sitting upright. He’s not expecting anyone; his mom promised he wouldn’t be bothered, and the only other person that knows he is here is Bones. He smiles as he pads down the hall and opens the door.

“Spock!” 

His first reaction is numbness, just for a few seconds, before his brain processes what is happening. He hopes it doesn’t play out on his face. Surprise takes over almost immediately after, and Jim can’t help but grin. They stand in silence for a moment, looking at each other almost wondrously. 

“What are you doing here?!”

“The doctor did not inform you of my planned arrival?”

“No… he… he had an outbreak of Andorian shingles to worry about.” Jim’s voice tails off as he begins to suspect Bones had an ulterior motive for getting him out of the city.

Spock looks quizzically at him. “Captain, if my presence here is intruding-”

“No, Spock, it’s not. It’s really not. Please, come in.” Jim steps back a few paces and allows Spock to enter the house. The door closes behind him, and Jim leads the way into the kitchen.

“Can I get you a drink?”

The sound of Spock’s boots tap across the floor as he follows him. Upon entering the room, Spock leaves half a room’s distance between them when he stops next to the table. A Starfleet regulation duffel bag rests over his shoulder, and Jim is pleased to see that he is not in uniform. The black linen pants, a light gray polo-neck style top, and a flecked black and gray sweater are clothes he has worn before when they have spent time together off duty, and Jim takes this as a sign that Spock is here because he wants to be, rather than out of a sense of duty.

“Water would be welcome.”

Jim prepares two glasses, passes one to Spock and tells him to put his bag on the table. They stand in silence for a few moments, both sipping their drinks. He spent so long thinking about what he would do if he got the chance to make it right, and now he can’t make himself say anything. He glances at Spock and finds he is watching him, not disdainfully, but with concern. 

“I’m sorr-”

“I see n-”

They move slightly towards each other.

“Please, Captain, proceed.”

He is ridiculously nervous. There is so much he wants to say, but he has to try not to overwhelm him. He has to convince Spock not to leave again, not to lose any more faith in him, to forgive him.

“I’m sorry. For losing my temper back at the Medical Centre. You were only trying to help and I was an asshole. You didn’t deserve the shit I was giving you, and I didn’t mean what I said. I understand why you needed time away from me, but Spock, if you’ve come here to tell me that you’re leaving Starfleet or you request a transfer to another ship, then just know that I’ll do whatever it takes to change your mind.” He shifts his focus to the glass he’s holding, both unable and unwilling to look at Spock until he knows he hasn’t completely screwed everything up. 

He hears Spock take a step towards him and Jim wants to match it.

“It would be my honor to continue serving as your first officer if you so wish it.” 

There is a pause for a moment, and Jim wonders if Spock is going to say anything else. When he doesn’t, Jim smiles, despite the hollow feeling in his stomach.

“I do, Spock, I do.” He tries to push aside the disappointment. If this is all Spock can give him, he will take it.

He follows Spock’s inadvertent lead, moving the conversation to safer subjects. 

“You said Bones knew you were coming?”

“Affirmative. Doctor McCoy was at laboratory seventeen at the Academy during my allocated research hours, and when I stated my intention to monitor the progress of the laboratories being refitted aboard the _Enterprise,_ he explained your decision to spend time here, provided your coordinates and requested that I bring the necessary equipment for your blood samples.”

Spock makes no move to retrieve anything from his bag, and now that Jim thinks about it, it seems pretty weird that Spock would turn up with all his stuff, just to do Bones a favor. He would have been travelling for the best part of a day, and could have easily left his visit until tomorrow, or messaged him and made arrangements for them to meet at the shipyard. Jim evaluates the possibility that Spock made the trip tonight just to see him, for whatever reason, and allows himself to test the theory. 

“I know you’ve probably got this covered, but you can stay here. If you want. No pressure. I understand it makes more sense to be on site, but it’s not that far to get to. There’s only me here so it’s pretty quiet, which would be good for your meditation. There’s plenty of room, and it would be good to spend some time with you, Spock.” 

“Thank you. I accept.”

Jim closes the distance between them, patting Spock on the shoulder. Although he only touches him for a moment, Spock visibly relaxes.

“Leave your glass on the table and I’ll show you to your room so you can settle in.”

Spock picks up his bag and follows Jim upstairs. He opens the door to Sam’s old room, knowing from his walkthrough of the house earlier that it is neat and tidy, and just needs some fresh linen. He shows Spock the linen cupboard and says he can help himself to towels or more comforters or anything he needs. He leaves the clean linen on the end of the bed and tells Spock to come down whenever he’s ready. Dumping the washing in the processor, Jim retrieves his comm from the living room and picks up his text conversation with Bones.

_> >You sent Spock? _

It’s a few minutes before a reply buzzes through.

_> > Oh, did I?_

_> >You set me up_

_> > You can thank me later. Don’t screw it up._

Jim shakes his head in disbelief and shoves his comm in his front pocket.

***

“So you’ve already seen upstairs and the kitchen. This is the lounge, and outside there’s the back yard but it’s too dark to show you now. I’ll add your thumb print to the house computer system in a minute. The door code is 2226; the year my parents got married. This house was their wedding gift… nobody ever changed the code so it’s always been the same.” Jim doesn’t know why he is sharing this with Spock; it’s not important, but Spock doesn’t stop him. He glances at Spock to see him listening intently. Jim suddenly feels self-conscious and changes the subject.

“I don’t know what you’ve got planned for tomorrow but I was going to take a walk into town to pick up some groceries. You’re welcome to come with me and then I can show you around?”

“I am amenable to that suggestion.”

“Okay, great. What time is Scotty expecting you?”

“Lieutenant Commander Scott has not confirmed a time for my arrival.”

“So we can take our time.” Jim says, walking over to the house computer terminal, close to where Spock is already standing, and begins to type.

“Put your thumb on that pad?”

Spock’s thumbprint is scanned and added to the database.

“So now you can play music, watch vids, get in and out without having to wait for me. I want you to be comfortable here, Spock.”

“Thank you.” 

They are standing closer to each other than they have in months. Jim can see Spock’s chest move as he breathes; the steady rhythm calming any nerves. Jim wants to touch him, just to know he’s real. Instead, he steps back, takes a seat on the couch. Spock remains standing for a moment and then follows, taking a seat opposite and picking up his PADD from the table. Jim asks him about his work in the labs back at the Academy, and Spock shows Jim his progress so far with the program he is working on to assist with establishing the colony. Leaving him to his work, Jim tells Spock to help himself to anything in the kitchen, and that he is going to take a bath.

Leaving his clothes in a pile on the floor while the tub fills, Jim climbs in as the water is still running, hot enough to make his skin flush pink. He stretches out, using his big toe to twist the faucet off before propping a leg over the edge, and closes his eyes. Spock was the last person he had expected to see, and now here he is, sitting in his living room. Jim is a weird mixture of relieved, reassured and nervous. The fact they seem to have put the worst behind them helps ease his mind, even if they haven’t really talked about it. Maybe they will soon, maybe it will take a little longer. Sometimes things just need time to settle. The important thing is that Spock is here. That has to count for something, and together they can work on the rest. He scrubs his face with his hand, almost as if that will get rid of any remaining doubt, before ducking his head under the water, resurfacing a few seconds later. The water feels good, cradling him and making him feel a little sleepy. He takes this as his cue to get out, washing quickly before pulling out the plug and rinsing the suds away. 

Back downstairs, he sees that Spock has prepared drinks for them both; a cup is waiting on the side of the table where Jim was previously seated. Spock looks up as Jim sits down. 

“Thanks, Spock. Did you eat yet?”

“My morning meal was sufficient,” he answers, placing his PADD on the table. “However, if you are hungry, I will prepare something.”

“No, you don’t have to; you’re my guest. And I think this might be enough, actually,” he says, taking a sip of his coffee before yawning. “I was going to suggest chess but you’ll kick my ass tonight, especially now…”

“You are tired.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’m going to be able to stay awake much longer. Look, Spock… I want you to know that I really am sorry, and I’m glad you’re here.” Jim says.

“It pleases me that we have reached an understanding and therefore an extended apology is unnecessary. Please do not let me prevent you from resting, Jim.”

“If you need anything, just ask, okay? Goodnight, Spock.”

“Goodnight.”


	11. Chapter 11

The walk into Riverside is only a couple of miles, but by the time they get there and Jim has given Spock a quick tour of the small town, he needs to rest. Whether it’s the noon heat or his body still recovering, he is unsure, but the store has a small cafe, where they stop for a drink before shopping. Jim settles the bill before they get everything on his list, as well as some things Spock wishes to purchase before taking a slow walk back to the house and unpacking their groceries. It’s nice, seeing their things lined up together in the cupboards, the fridge full of their food, rather than having a shelf each and then one for communal items. Jim takes it as a little sign that things really are okay between them; that Spock wants to be here.

Jim pretends to read his book, but is actually reading Spock, who has been glancing out of the window at the garden, and finally got up to give it his full attention four minutes ago. 

“It won’t bite.”

Spock turns around, and looks at Jim, brow furrowed in confusion.

"There are no carnivorous plants native to Iowa, as you are no doubt well aware.”

“So what are you waiting for?”

Once outside, Spock stands amidst the grass, surveying his surroundings with scientific precision. Jim follows and leans against the wall, watching. 

“It’s a mess, Spock.”

“It need not be.”

“You want to clear my mother’s yard?”

“It would be pleasant to spend time here.”

Jim raises his eyebrows, even though Spock is still inspecting the project.

“Go nuts.”

“Your mother would not be displeased?”

“I don’t think she would give a crap. There’s always been flowers and grass there; she used to pay me or Sam to keep it tidy when we were kids, but I guess it’s just been the bare minimum whenever she’s been back here. Gardening really isn’t my thing, but I’ll rig the synthesiser and make you all the spice tea you want.”

Spock turns to Jim, the faintest hint of a smile on his face.

It takes Spock the rest of the afternoon and into the evening before he is satisfied with his work. He programs the mower to get the grass down to exactly two inches, and focuses his attention on the flowers; weeding and pruning until the beds of stocks are uniform in their neatness. Although it does not need any attention yet, his favourite is the purple lilac tree; the rich smell makes him close his eyes in enjoyment, and he idles slightly while attending to the tasks that keep him closest to it. Jim is true to his word, bringing the first cup of tea to Spock sixty-three minutes after they last spoke. The offer of another follows fifty-seven minutes later, and when he brings out the refilled mug, Jim suggests they can dust off the fire pit from the outbuilding and use it to cook their evening meal.

While Spock washes up for dinner, Jim gets the fire started before bringing out the kabobs. In addition to programming the synthesiser to make Vulcan tea, he found hacks for kreyla, gespar and a whole list of other Vulcan foods that Spock might enjoy, but tonight was about celebrating Spock’s hard work and cooking fresh food in the open air. 

They stay seated around the burning fire long after eating, neither wanting to go back inside. The night sky is clear, and both of them are transfixed by it. Jim wonders if he should tell Spock about the constellations, the stories and the myths, but decides that it’s probably something he would already have learned. Idly, he wonders if one day they would get to learn about the constellations visible from New Vulcan. 

“Hey, do you remember when you tried to teach me to meditate?”

Spock raises an eyebrow, as if to indicate that the experience was not something he would forget.

“I know, it was awful. I tried. I just couldn’t get my mind to stop. I can’t switch it off, Spock.”

“I am aware. You told me you would seek something that allowed you to find calm. I have noticed that during ninety-four of our chess games, you are more at peace at the end of the match than the start, which would suggest you find our games to be useful in temporarily alleviating the responsibilities of command. May I enquire as to what else you find soothing?”

Jim surveys the vast indigo expanse above them. Spock follows his gaze.

“This. Watching the stars. Even as a kid, knowing there’s so much more out there than whatever shit is going on in my head used to calm me down. It makes me feel like I’m nothing and everything at the same time. Like I exist outside of my own limitations, you know?” 

“I do.” 

For a few moments, they are silent again. 

“And then there’s you.” Jim says, so quietly it’s almost like a secret.

Spock turns his head, observing Jim’s profile before their eyes meet. 

Jim scrubs his face with his hand and looks at the ground. “Shit, I’m sorry, Spock.” He laughs at himself but it’s tinged with sadness. “Uhura's going to be pissed."

"I do not understand. You are in a romantic relationship with the Lieutenant?" 

"No, Spock," Jim says, shaking his head in confusion, "you are."

"Negative. Lieutenant Uhura and I ended our association ninety-eight standard days ago. I submitted the relevant forms." 

Jim doesn’t really pay attention the last sentence. Instead he is sure that Spock must be able to hear how loud his heart is beating. This is his chance to tell Spock how he feels, but he can’t. Fraternisation rules mean it’s either Spock or the ship, and if he can’t keep his mouth shut then he could lose both. Spock has made it clear that he intends to remain in Starfleet, and Jim would never ask him to give up his career; wouldn’t expect him to give up everything he has worked so hard for. Jim understands how important it is to him. Despite all the anger and self-doubt that he himself experienced after waking up and in the weeks after, there has always been a part of him that couldn’t let go of wanting to be back in the captain’s chair. Wanting to do better, to be better, on his ship with his crew. If he were to resign his commission so, then he would have no idea if or when he would even see Spock again. 

In keeping his command, Jim knows that legally, he cannot show a romantic or sexual interest in anyone on the ship due to regulations preventing an abuse of power. Someone could approach him, but the only person he is interested in, despite sitting within arm’s reach, is as unattainable as he was the day they first met.

“I’m sorry. I know you were together for a while, and it can’t have been easy.”

“Your condolences are unnecessary. It is a decision I am grateful she made.” 

Nothing about Spock’s voice gives him cause for concern, but Jim watches him for a moment, making sure that the subject is something he is ready to talk about. 

“What happened?”

Jim waits patiently for Spock to answer. It is rare that he shows this side of himself; Jim rarely tries to engage him in conversation about his personal life, preferring instead to let Spock take the lead and share only what he feels comfortable with.

“She… understood that my affection for her was not love, and allowed us both the freedom to find it.”

It’s not the answer that he was expecting; rather than seemingly stringent Vulcan logic, it is far more human. There’s something about his expression; something underlying in the tone of his voice, that makes Jim wonder if Spock is trying to communicate something he is not ready to say.

He can’t take the chance, can’t afford to be right or wrong. At the same time, he is desperate not to overwhelm Spock, or push him away, so he tries to be as neutral as possible.

“I don’t mean to overstep any boundaries here, but... love isn’t always obviously recognisable.” 

The light of the flames reflects in Spock’s eyes, and Jim swears that something between them palpably shifts.

“This is something I have become aware of.” 

***

The smell of incense still lingers in his room as Spock lies on the bed, attempting to rest after being unable to focus fully on his meditation. Jim’s words and the ambassador’s advice weave together, creating possibilities which pull him from the path of logic. Any concern he experienced during his journey back to Jim dissipated upon seeing him again. He breathes deeply in a final attempt to focus his thoughts, but his efforts are unsuccessful. Just before he rises to retrieve his PADD from the desk, Spock hears muffled cries from the room next door. Staying still, he listens carefully, knowing there is no way to distinguish whether Jim is dreaming or not, but not wishing to intrude if he is not wanted. After a few minutes of indecision in which Spock becomes increasingly aware of his failure to act, he hears Jim’s door open, and the choice is made for him. He sits up, ready should Jim wish to speak with him. It is not uncommon for Jim to have an irregular sleep pattern, and Spock has heard him pacing in his quarters aboard the ship before seeking him out to discuss whatever is bothering him. 

There is no knock at his door. Spock decides to get a glass of water from the kitchen; should he see Jim in the hall or downstairs then it would be an opportunity to check on him without causing humiliation to either of them. The harsh sound of breaking glass cuts through his thoughts, and Spock runs towards the noise, hammering at the bathroom door with the palm of his hand.

“Jim. JIM!”

There is no answer. Spock does not hesitate to open the door. Jim is leaning over the sink, gripping it tightly and breathing heavily. Spock watches him, fighting to suppress the wave of anguish rising within. Seeing him suffer causes Spock pain. He was unable to provide comfort for Jim when he needed it most. Even now, when there is nothing physically separating them, he is failing once more. He goes to him, momentarily yielding to his too-human need to embrace Jim, but quickly stops when he begins to speak.

“I don’t want you to see me like this.” 

It is a whispered plea. Spock ignores the wrench of logic that would have him turn away so that Jim can compose himself. 

“My only wish is to help.”

Jim exhales loudly, breathing easier now. He lifts his head, looking at his broken reflection. 

“Fuck.” he says, letting go of the sink.

There are shards of glass in the sink and around his feet. The knuckles on his right hand are bleeding, and Spock notices that both of Jim’s hands are shaking slightly. 

Silently, Spock leads him carefully to his room, and seats him on the bed. He pulls his bag from under the bed and locates the small medkit that McCoy insisted he would need, removing the dermal regenerator. Sitting down next to Jim, he asks if he may see his injured hand. Jim doesn’t move, except to glance up at Spock. His eyes are slightly bloodshot. Beads of sweat dot his hairline, making the dark blonde hair brown.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I thought I was past this.”

“May I ask what happened?”

“I don’t know. I was dreaming; I was in the chamber again, and the ship was safe, but I was burning. It was so hot, and I couldn’t see or hear you, but I knew you were there. I tried to call out to you, but I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t move. I couldn’t get to you. Everything I tried to do made it hurt worse. I didn’t know what was happening, and I couldn’t make sense of anything. I was trapped, Spock, but I knew I couldn’t open the door, no matter what, and I was so scared. It felt so real, and when I woke up, I just… I don’t know.”

Spock remembers his own experiences of re-experiencing traumatic events; the insomnia, the nightmares, avoiding certain feelings and situations that were too difficult to process, and is aware that he is ill-equipped to offer any counsel on how to process the emotions. There is no logical answer. Instead, he can provide companionship.

“You are safe now, Jim. If you permit it, I would request that you stay here tonight. It is inadvisable to be alone. ” 

He nods twice, and purses his lips as if to stop himself from speaking. Spock recognises the troubled expression on his face.

“Jim, there is nothing you need to hide from me.”

Jim rests his hands in his lap, twisting his fingers together.

“When I was in the chamber; not being able to get to you; that was worse than anything else. I just wanted you to know how much I care about you.”

Spock’s breath catches and he cannot speak.

“I missed you.” Jim says quietly. “When we weren’t speaking, I thought about you every day. I kept hoping you would forgive me.”

Spock could reach out now and touch him. Hold him and tell him that he would stay by his side forever, if that’s what he wants. The human in him craves this, but the Vulcan fights for control.

“I feel so stupid now, about how I treated you. We wasted all that time, Spock. I don’t want to keep losing you.”

“You must understand that I did not mean to cause you pain; my only intention was to prevent it.” 

“I know.” 

Jim slowly places his bleeding hand on the bed between them. Spock strengthens his mental shields; he cannot allow emotion to rule him any more than it already has while Jim is again injured. The cuts are not deep, and Spock reaches for the medkit before cleaning his wounds carefully, ensuring they are free of any glass. He works in silence, aware Jim is watching him. Spock concentrates fully on his task, ignoring the sensation of Jim’s skin against his.

“I don’t want the regenerator,” Jim says, not breaking the contact. “It’ll heal in time.”

Spock, remembering his own need for physical proof he could heal after experiencing loss, does not argue.


	12. Chapter 12

They work out a daily routine, dividing up the chores and alternating the task of preparing meals should they not assist each other. Spock wishes to demonstrate his gratitude for Jim’s courteous welcome into his family home; it is customary for guests to a Vulcan home to prepare meals for their host, and so Spock honors his heritage by making breakfast each morning. Jim tries to convince Spock to let him return the favor, but Spock insists it is something he enjoys. 

Spending most of his time reading or listening to music, Jim occasionally helps Spock work on his computer program, and most evenings end with a few games of chess, which are sometimes played outside if the sky is especially clear so there is a good view of the stars. Spock diligently carries out McCoy’s orders, taking bi-monthly samples of Jim’s blood and sending them back to the Medical Centre. The results are always disclosed via the communications console over a glass of something, which McCoy insists is medicinal. Although Jim’s results continue to show that there is no cause for concern, each call takes at least a half hour, and is more of a social engagement than a professional one. 

The day of the third blood test, Jim suggests going out for a walk. He has enjoyed the novelty of being back at the farm, but now he’s feeling a little cooped up and itching to do more. 

It’s warm out, so he leaves his jacket on the coat rack and pulls on a thin flannel over his olive-green henley. He stuffs his credit chip and comm in the pocket of his jeans as Spock meets him at the doorway, dressed in black pants and an intricately patterned charcoal tunic. The early evening sky lights their walk into Riverside, a comfortable silence lasting most of the miles. Approaching the town, Spock expects Jim to steer them towards a bar, but instead he keeps walking.

“You do not wish to consume alcohol?” Spock enquires, slowing down as the Shipyard comes into view.

Jim glances at him and answers with a shake of his head before looking over to the neon sign hanging outside the building. 

“I know. Highly illogical given my previous behaviour but it just doesn’t fit right at the moment. But we can stop for a drink if you want?”

“Negative.”

Jim brushes a hand through his hair and they continue side-by-side along the pathway towards the lights of the Riverside shipyard, where their ship stands proud and defiant in the dusk.

“She had something to do with my decision to sign up, you know,” Jim says. 

“Clarify.”

“The _Enterprise._ I saw her being built the night before I got the shuttle to the Academy. She was nowhere near ready to fly but I wanted her. That was my ship, and if I was going to sign up, it was to be her captain.”

They stand close to the perimeter fence, watching the night crew work. She is surrounded by scaffolding and floodlights, damage evident, but healing. 

“Hey, did Uhura ever tell you that the bar back there was where we first met?” Jim says, kicking the toe of his boot against the ground.

“Affirmative.”

He laughs. “Yeah, I bet she did. Did she also tell you that I hit on her, had a fight with Giotto and got the recruitment speech from Pike, all in less than an hour? Changed my life.”

“Admiral Pike was an exceptional man.”

“He was definitely that. I wouldn’t have enlisted without him. Wouldn’t have got the ship, wouldn’t have met Bones, wouldn’t have met you…” 

“I am grateful he was able to convince you.”

“Me too. After Khan, I was so angry with everyone and everything. I didn’t want to deal with it. I couldn’t. But now… I have to. I don’t want to give up.” 

Spock steps closer, gently placing a hand on Jim’s forearm and lowering his shields. Jim’s delicate resoluteness becomes something Spock must keep alive.

“You saved my life because you are my friend. The efforts of your crew to save yours must show you that being a captain is your destiny. A starship runs on loyalty to one man, and nothing can replace it, or him.”

Jim says nothing, but Spock feels the wave of emotion before he sees it wash over his face. 

“So you know why _I_ went back for _you_ , Spock. Because I need you. Because nothing can replace you.”

The desire for touch is not logical, and yet Spock yields to the overwhelming need to not let go, wishing that Jim could know the depth of his feelings through their contact alone because he cannot find the words to tell him.

Spock gently slides his hand to Jim’s wrist, unable to hide the vulnerability in his voice.

“I know I have no right to ask this of you, and yet I must. Do not send me away again.”

“I won’t, Spock, I promise.” 

Jim pulls him close, enveloping him in a hug. Spock has both wanted and felt afraid of this for so long that for a moment he is rigid and forgets how to breathe. He feels the warmth of Jim’s breath against the skin on his neck, and slowly puts his arms around his shoulders, closing his eyes as he absorbs the flow of pure affection. 

“T’hy’la,” he whispers.

Spock maps the sensation of Jim running his hands down his arms as he loosens his embrace, moving just far enough so that Spock can see his face.

“Is that Vulcan? What does it mean?”

Spock is silent for a moment. 

“There is no Standard equivalent. I do not use the word in the hope that the sentiment will be returned. Only to convey how much I value you.”

Jim's eyes are fire.

“I want to know, Spock. I want to know what we can be.”

Here, encompassed by tenderness and emotion, intuition conquers logic. Spock kisses him, soft, chaste and achingly slow. Jim’s lips are as warm and gentle as the simple joy that he is projecting through the touch of their bodies. Jim cups Spock’s face, thumb brushing his cheekbone, returning the kiss just as sweetly. Spock wraps an arm around his waist, holding him closer. Jim breaks the kiss and rests his head on Spock’s shoulder.

“Let’s go home.” 

***

Nothing changes, yet everything does. Spock still works on his program, Jim reads his books, meals are shared, chores are completed. Jim allows him his space, but Spock sits closer, lies closer, shares his affection a little more each day. Sometimes, from the outside, Jim knows the difference in their relationship would be almost imperceptible, but it’s there, between his heart and Spock’s, and that is all that matters. Still, he feels an anxiousness in the pit of his stomach, although it is entirely of his own making. 

The moonlight casts a shadow across their faces and upon the wall in the otherwise dark bedroom. Jim lies on his side, facing Spock, but not touching him. Jim knows what people think, what his behaviour can sometimes be interpreted as, but since waking up in hospital, sex is the last thing on his mind and he is unsure of how to approach the subject. 

“Is this okay?” he asks. “Us, like this?” 

Spock turns on his side to face Jim.

“You are experiencing doubt?”

“No… no way. I… I just know that I have a reputation. That I’ll have sex with anyone, any time. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but… people see what they want to see, and sometimes not correcting them works to an advantage.”

“I understand.”

Jim chews nervously on the inside of his lip.

“I enjoy sex, don’t think I don’t, but it’s not exactly a priority right now, and hasn’t been for a while. I like just being with you, Spock. Will, will that be a problem?”

“I hold no expectations regarding the speed that a physical relationship is embarked upon. We will find a path together.”

Spock’s tone is tender, and Jim reaches for his hand and squeezes before weaving their fingers together. 

“May I share a Vulcan custom?”

“Of course.”

Spock lets go of Jim’s hand, and gently runs his pointer and middle fingers over Jim’s, following the curves of his fingertips, and only stopping when he reaches his palm. 

“What does it mean?”

Spock rests the tips of the same two fingers against Jim’s while he explains.

“It is the ozh’esta. Not exactly a kiss, it is ancient Vulcan ritual used to demonstrate affection.”

For a human, the gesture is simple in its intimacy, yet Jim’s eyes widen by zero point zero two per cent and his lips part slightly before he slowly smiles. Spock feels the warmth of contentment flow between them where their fingers touch, and indulgently allows himself to think of a future where they are bonded.

“Do it again” Jim whispers.

Spock repeats the action, and Jim practices what he has just learned on Spock.

“So if you’re teaching me how you show affection, are you saying we’re official?”

“We will need to complete the relevant paperwork upon our return to Starfleet headquarters.”

Jim rolls his eyes and props himself using his elbow, resting a hand behind his ear. He looks at Spock, suddenly nervous. "We're going to piss each other off sometimes. Maybe more than we have before. You know that, right?"

"Yes, Jim, I believe we will."

"And you're okay with that?"

"I have no wish to alter the current course of our professional or personal relationship."

“So we’re a team?”

“In every way.”


	13. Chapter 13

“Did you see the message from Scotty? He’s ready for us.” Jim says, leaning over Spock’s shoulder to place a cup of tea on the table, then reaching for a slice of toast. The timestamp on the communication shows it was sent at 02:17, and it had been waiting for Jim when he woke up. 

“I did. I have scheduled a vehicle to collect us at 09:00.”

“Thanks Spock. I just need to pack some things and then I’ll be ready.”

“I have already done so. A bag is by the door should there be anything you wish to add.”

He doesn’t, and their ride arrives exactly on time. The few miles pass quickly. It almost feels too soon when their ship comes into view. Spock hands his credit chip to the driver while Jim fumbles for his security pass. Clearance is granted of course, although Scotty is not there to meet them.

***

Jim takes a deep breath and pulls down his gold tunic before walking through the entrance doors of the _Enterprise._ He actively tried to avoid thinking about being back on board; not really wanting to contemplate how he would feel or how he would react. He had expected to feel a huge sense of loss; for his crew and in some ways for himself, but surprisingly, he feels glad to be there; feels that he owes it to everyone he had served with to do the best he can, and work to carry the message of Starfleet across the galaxy. He gently touches one of the walls, almost reverently, in a silent greeting. Spock stands close, shoulders tense.

“I’m fine, Spock.”

“Fine has variable definitions, Captain.”

Jim turns to face him and smiles softly. “I’m fine.”

Spock doesn’t comment any further on the matter, but he visibly relaxes and they begin to walk, taking a tour of decks twelve through two before going onto the bridge. Lights, screens and consoles are waiting to be fitted, but that doesn’t make it feel any less familiar. Jim stands where the command chair is usually positioned and surveys everything around him. Scotty must have told his team about their visit because there has been a distinct lack of interruptions during their tour so far.

“In a few months she’ll be ready, Spock. She’ll be good as new and ready to travel.”

“Mr. Scott has made steady progress with the repair schedule.”

“He has. I know it screws up the itinerary but I think we should go and see the science labs next. Let Bones see the medbay before we go and take a look. You know how he gets.” 

“Indeed I do.”

Only three of the fourteen labs are inaccessible, and Spock makes notes on his PADD as he works his way through.

“Improvements?” Jim asks as he follows Spock’s path. 

“Recommendations.” Spock answers, not looking up.

All too quickly, Scotty is waiting in the doorway to give them a tour of Engineering.

“Welcome aboard, Captain, Commander.”

“Scotty!” Jim says, hugging him. 

“Mr. Scott.”

“Commander,” Scotty says, nodding, “I trust everything is to your liking so far?” 

“It looks great.” Jim answers, smiling reassuringly.

“I have noted some alterations that you may wish to make.” Jim shoots him a look, and Spock appears to recognise his mistake. 

“However, as chief engineer, the decision is ultimately yours.” 

Jim rolls his eyes and slaps Scotty on the shoulder. 

“Let’s see Engineering.”

***

Since being back on board, Jim has kept a watchful eye on Spock, looking out for any signs of distress. It was here that he learned about the death of his planet, here that he had to beam back to after being unable to save his mother, here where Jim watched him cry and was powerless to stop it. So far, there has been nothing about Spock’s behaviour to make him worry; he has been carrying out his duties as a first officer with his usual precision.

“I do not understand why it was incorrect to inform Lieutenant Commander Scott of my recommendations,” Spock says quietly once Scotty has briefly left them alone, called away by Keenser to sign off a delivery.

“Because right then, he wasn’t looking for criticism, no matter how constructive.”

“He asked a direct question and Vulcans cannot lie, Captain.”

“No-one expects you to lie, Spock. But he needs reassurance that he’s doing a good job and that we trust him to keep doing it. So you say yes, and then if there are any changes you want to make, tell him when you’ve done the whole tour. Say how great it is, and then ask if he’s thought of trying whatever it is you think would be better. Make him think it’s his idea, or if he explains to you that yes, he thought it through and it doesn’t work for whatever reason, then you’ll have learned something instead.”

“Interesting.”

“Sorry about that, gents,” Scotty says as he approaches them, “we’re increasing the size of the coolant and elemental storage facilities by thirteen per cent and apparently that’s created an argument over the placing of the gas reserves. Shall we continue?” 

They walk through the shuttle bay and most of the engineering deck with Scotty giving a running commentary, until the decontamination chamber is within sight. Scotty slows the tour immediately and lowers his voice.

“Jim… are you sure you want to do this?”

Jim nods. “I’m sure.”

Scotty looks anxiously at them both. 

“Well, if you change your mind, Sir, no one would think any less of you.”

“Thank you, Scotty.”

Scotty busies himself with making some minor adjustments at a console a generously discreet distance away as Jim and Spock walk slowly towards the chamber door. Jim doesn’t need to work to keep his breathing steady. With Spock by his side, he feels calm. He can accept that a terrible, painful thing happened, and that given the same circumstances, he would make the same choice, saving the lives of his crew over his own every time. He believes he has learned from his mistakes; to do a little more looking before he leaps, and not let his tendency to be impetuous blind him. Equally, he understands the importance of avoiding inaction and not letting fear hold him back. He looks over at Spock, who has his eyes fixed on the chamber door. Jim touches their fingertips together for a long moment.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“It is I who should be asking you that question.”

“I am. I’m okay.”

When he answers, Spock’s voice is barely above a whisper.

“I am not.”

Jim moves closer, his instincts telling him to protect Spock. He wraps his hand around Spock’s waist. Spock settles against him, so that his arm brushes Jim’s chest. 

“I’m here. I’m here with you,” Jim says quietly, tracing small circles with his fingertips over Spock’s heart. 

“I could not touch you. You were alone and I was powerless to ease your suffering. I could not save you.” 

“Hey, hey... I wasn’t alone. I had you. You were there. You were right there with me. You saved me. In every way, you saved me and I’m right here. I’m here with you and it’s okay, Spock, it’s okay.”

Jim gently kisses his temple and Spock bows his head, regaining his composure.

They stand together in silence for a few moments, taking comfort in solidarity before rejoining Scotty and continuing with the tour of the ship.

***

The next few months are filled with signing off work orders, getting their hands dirty helping with the refit (including spending entirely too much time in the Jefferies tubes), and seemingly endless amounts of paperwork. All of Spock’s recommended changes for the science labs are noted, discussed, and some even authorised, all with good grace. Jim’s bi-monthly blood tests continue, with McCoy stating that he wants to keep them up for the next six months at least, just to be safe, but medically he is prepared to allow him back to active duty. 

Jim and Spock effectively take residence back in their quarters, and easily fall back into the routine of ship life, even though they are still docked. The technicians become like her second crew, except with Scotty as their captain, and Jim is happy to throw himself into fixing his ship. Being back on board, he is thriving. Spock monitors him, reassured by the observation that he is getting stronger, mentally as well as physically. When they receive a communication from Command that they are to report back to Starfleet Headquarters, Jim can barely sleep thinking about what it will be for. Lying in bed, Spock uses his fingertips to trace kisses over Jim’s hand in an attempt to lull him into resting. 

“What do you think it will be?”

“Speculation is an ineffective exercise.”

“Yeah, but you must have wondered, even a little bit. Come ooooon, Spock!” Jim sits up, the blanket slipping to his waist. Spock watches, but remains lying on his side.

“I am curious, however, I cannot formulate a hypothesis on so little information.”

“Do you think they’ll offer us the five year mission?”

“That is one possibility.”

“Do you think we’re ready?”

“I do.”

“I really hope we get it.”

Jim is silent for a moment, his excitement waning.

“What if they want to reassign us? I mean, it makes no sense to do it now, not when we’ve been working so hard here, but what if they do? What if they separate us?” Jim pulls his knees to his chest, unease evident in his face. 

“Either outcome is highly illogical given the circumstances, however we cannot control the decisions of others, Jim.” Spock sits up and wraps his arms around him. Jim rests his head against Spock’s, settling into his embrace. They are quiet and still for a minute before Jim speaks.

“Don’t give me the probable percentages.”

“They are-”

“Spock!” Jim warns, adjusting them so they are both lying down.

“Goodnight, Jim.”


	14. Chapter 14

McCoy places three glasses on the table before taking a seat in the booth furthest from the door. It’s quiet, even for a Tuesday night so close to Christmas, but he leans forward so he can be heard over the festive music.

“Five years in space. Five years. Unbelievable.”

Jim smiles. “I know. We’ll be glad to have you aboard, Bones.”

McCoy wags a finger between Jim and Spock.

“So this is definitely a ‘we’ thing now, is it?”

“It is,” Spock answers, “and I wish to thank you, Doctor, for your assistance.”

McCoy quirks an eyebrow. ”Now Mr. Spock, any more of that and you’ll start making me blush.” 

They talk about the _Enterprise_ ; her scheduled launch date of 2260.04 from the San Francisco fleet yards, and McCoy fishes for information about the refit, grumbling that his medbay is probably unrecognisable. Spock suggests directly that the Doctor could solve his problem by boarding ahead of time and ensuring everything is to his satisfaction, before excusing himself to use the bathroom. 

“Well, he’s a delight this evening. I think that was a record, even for us.” Bones says, sipping his drink.

“What are you talking about? You two argue all the time. The city looks better.” Jim comments, looking out of the window. Looking at the skyline, it is almost impossible to tell it had been just about levelled. 

“So do you, kid.” 

Jim dips his head slightly before focusing his attention on McCoy. 

“I just wanted to say thank you. For saving me. For giving me all those pep talks and putting up with all my shit and looking after me. I know what a big deal it was. You risked your career for me, as well as everything else, and I wouldn’t have made it without you, Bones.”

It’s been a long time coming, but Jim doesn’t regret waiting until now to say it; now that he can really mean it and give his best friend the truth he deserves, rather than some hollow bullshit platitude that he would have seen straight through.

“No, you wouldn’t. And don’t make me do it again.” he says, voice full of emotion. McCoy wipes away invisible tears as Spock returns to his seat. Spock narrows his eyes quizzically at Jim, as if to ask if there is a problem that needs attending to. Jim smiles at him reassuringly and nudges Spock’s thigh slightly with his own in a silent show of affection.

“So how long are you two back here for? Until the launch?” McCoy asks after a few moments.

“No, just for tonight. We’re going back tomorrow. You’re welcome to come with us; you must be owed leave by now.”

“Actually, I am, and I’m taking Carol back to Georgia, so you two can have a love-in back at the ranch without any interruptions.”

“Wow, must be serious!”

“We’re just friends, Jim. Both of us are alone, so why not be alone together.”

“You old romantic, Bones.”

“Doctor, I do not wish for you to feel excluded due to the change in the nature of the relationship between Jim and I.”

“Relax, Spock. I don’t. Although I’d say you do both owe me at least one more drink. Each.”

Alcohol does not affect Spock, and Jim only gets slightly buzzed, switching to ginger ale after his first two brandies. McCoy, despite today being his last day on shift for three weeks, stays sober enough to makes sure that Spock gets Jim back to his apartment without incident. “I suppose that you can have these now, but no opening them until Christmas morning.” He pulls two small presents from his medical bag, and hands them one each.

“Don’t say anything. I know, Vulcans don’t celebrate the winter holidays, but we humans do, so indulge me.”

Jim laughs, shaking his present to see if he can guess what it is by sound alone, and Spock thanks him awkwardly. McCoy hugs Jim goodbye, and pats Spock twice on the upper arm.

Jim keys in the access code for the door and gently pushes Spock inside, arm around his waist. “Is there anything you want to pick up from your place while we’re here?” Jim asks, settling down on the couch.

“Negative. I will prepare for departure upon our return for the recommissioning ceremony of the _Enterprise_.”

Spock sits down next to him, hands folded in his lap. 

“Is everything okay? You’ve been acting kind of off tonight.”

“I was perhaps more concerned than I realised regarding our appointment with Starfleet Command. Should it not inconvenience you, I will increase my meditation time tonight.”

“Sure, Spock, of course. Come to bed when you’re ready.” Jim picks up his PADD and kisses Spock’s head softly, running a reassuring hand over his shoulder. 

Jim bathes and then gets settled in bed, checking through reports and crew lists in an attempt to distract himself from worrying about Spock. No-one had requested a transfer off the ship, and there were plenty of names he recognised, as well as some he did not. He had half expected Dr. Marcus to leave Starfleet altogether, but if she wished to stay in service, and aboard his ship, then Jim would support her decision. He was also grateful that whatever had happened between Uhura and Spock had not affected her decision to remain as part of the crew. She was, without a doubt, the best communications officer to have graduated from the Academy. A flood of panic hits him; they had not spoken for months, and she was probably unaware of how things had changed between him and Spock. He considers calling her; it had to be done soon, to allow her to get used to the idea, and to request a transfer if she couldn’t. It was only fair. He would speak to Spock before doing anything, but he could kick himself for forgetting about her. The worst thing is that telling her now makes it seem like an afterthought, even though that was never his intention.

Spock is visibly more relaxed when he comes to bed, and Jim moves over to his side so that they are both sitting on the edge.

“Hey,” he says, running his hand down Spock’s arm, “better?”

Spock takes his hand and holds it in his lap. “Affirmative.” 

“Good. You had me worried there for a minute. You know that you can talk to me about anything, right?”

“I do.”

Jim brushes Spock’s thumb with his own in an attempt to reassure them both.

“I need to talk to you. About Uhura. When was the last time you spoke to her?”

“Two hundred and seventy-nine point eleven days ago. Jim, may I ask to what this is regarding?”

“She doesn’t know. About us. And I’m so pissed at myself for not thinking about her sooner. I was so wrapped up in myself and in us and the ship… fuck, I can’t believe I screwed this up.”

“Your concerns are unfounded. When Nyota ended our relationship, she made allusions that my regard for you ran deeper than I had been aware of, and that it was unfair to both of us to remain part of a romantic pairing. She also requested that she wished us to remain friends, and that I should take some time to consider if this was something I desired as well. I do wish to maintain a friendship and therefore have engaged in regular communication while she is assisting with the diplomatic effort between the Federation and the Klingon Empire.”

“Wait… what?” 

“Which part of my explanation is unclear?” 

“Well, none of it. All of it. Shit. I don’t know… I still feel like I should talk to her. Would you mind if I called her?”

“I would not. But perhaps tomorrow would be better, given the late hour.”

“I’d rather send her a message now and see if she’s awake,” Jim says, letting go of Spock’s hand so he can grab his pants from the floor. He pulls his comm from his pocket and starts to type.

A few minutes later, it chirps with an incoming call. Jim looks at Spock for reassurance, nerves that had been on the periphery suddenly taking hold.

“Hey, Uhura.”

“Hey yourself, Captain,” she teases. 

“I was wondering if you’re free tomorrow morning, around eight? There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

Her tone changes, suddenly slightly sharper. “Is this about Spock? Are you transferring me? Because it won’t be a problem. We’ve worked everything out and our duties will not be affected.”

“No, no, no-one is transferring anyone. But I do want to talk to you, in person. Please? Let me buy you breakfast. Meet me at that pancake shop we used to go to at 0800 hours?”

“I have a ticket for the shuttle at 0900, so it will have to be quick.”

“Deal. See you tomorrow.” 

He closes his comm, exhaling loudly. The nerves have abated but not gone completely.

“Do you wish me to accompany you?” Spock asks, eyes full of concern.

“No, I need to do this by myself. Meet me after, though?”

“Of course. May I use your communications console to contact the Ambassador tomorrow morning?”

“Sure. You don’t need to ask, Spock. Anything you want is yours.” 

***

Uhura is already seated when Jim walks in, and looks up from the back of the menu. She stands to meet him, and kisses him on the cheek.

“You look good,” she says warmly.

“So do you.” She looks bright and happy, and Jim doesn’t want to change that. Although nothing about her so far gives him cause for concern, he wonders if she really is as okay with things as Spock believes her to be.

“So what are you getting?” he asks, nodding towards the menu rack. The restaurant is styled after a mid-twentieth century diner, although the jukebox next to their booth is silent. It was a regular haunt during their days at the Academy. Jim finds a small tear in the red fabric of his seat, and nervously plays with a loose thread. 

“The pineapple and banana pancakes, and an orange juice.”

A waiter approaches and takes their order. Uhura shakes her head fondly. 

“I should have put credits on you going for the bacon and syrup stack. You didn’t even look at the menu.”

“I don’t need to. You think I’m going to come here and order something else? Come on, it’s like you’ve never even met me.”

She laughs, glancing at her chronographer.

“So, spit it out. You wanted to talk to me?” 

Jim feels his stomach drop. He looks at her, hoping his face doesn’t betray him. He spent hours awake last night, going over this in his head, but now he’s here, he can’t get a word out. Uhura takes pity on him, sighing and leaning forward slightly so she can drop her voice.

“Look, I think I know what this is about. You and Spock, right?”

“He...”

“I’m not stupid, Jim. And I’m not angry, or upset, or anything else that you think I might be. I broke up with him. It was my choice, and it was the right one. I’m just glad that he managed to tell you. It broke my heart, seeing him fall apart like that. That was the worst. That he hurt so much and there was nothing I could do. It wasn’t fair to Spock, expecting him to stay with me when it was obvious how losing you affected him, and it wasn’t fair to me, being second-best.”

“Uhura-”

“I don’t mean it like that. What we had was good, and I don’t regret it, but it wasn’t enough. For either of us. Jim, it was only a matter of time. And I think everyone has wasted enough of that. I’ll always care for Spock. I will always consider him a friend. And just so you know, _Captain_ , if you hurt him, I will never let you forget it.”

Both Jim and Uhura are silent while their meals are served, smiling graciously and thanking the waiter before he goes back behind the counter.

Uhura folds her napkin over her lap before sipping her juice and cutting into her pancakes.

“And it won't be a problem for you? Seeing us together?” Jim asks, mid-chew. Uhura rolls her eyes at him in disgust.

“Was it a problem for you? I promise you, you both have my blessing.” 

“I don't want things to be weird. For anyone.” 

“So don't make them weird,” she says simply, spearing a piece of bacon from his plate.

***

Spock waits for the call to connect to Vulcan, but it is picked up by the ambassador’s answering service. The computerised voice asks him to leave a brief message as well as his identification and location, so that his call may be returned.

“Ambassador, this is Spock. I regret not contacting you sooner, but hope you will forgive me. I believe you will be gratified to learn that Jim is well, and that your advice to persevere despite my difficulties was correct. The depth of my emotion was not scorned, it was shared. For this, and for your words, I am immeasurably grateful. We are presently in San Francisco, at Jim’s residence, and are returning to Iowa today. Should you wish to contact either of us, our personal communicators shall be on.”

He ends the transmission and collects both duffel bags from where Jim left them on the sofa this morning, locking the apartment as he leaves.

The walk to the station is not uncomfortably cold due to his brisk pace, but Spock pulls his cloak tighter around him while he waits for Jim after purchasing their tickets. Three point eleven minutes after their agreed meeting time, he hears the lieutenant’s laughter, and turns as she approaches with Jim.

“Spock! It’s good to see you! I have to run, my shuttle goes in four minutes, but we’ll catch up properly after the holidays, okay?” she says, waving goodbye before turning around and walking quickly in the direction of her collection point. 

Jim takes his bag from Spock, making sure that their hands brush and he experiences the comfort that Jim feels now they are together again. 

“I trust that breakfast went well?” Spock enquires as they wait for the transport.

“Yeah, you were right. But I had to do it. As her captain, as well as her friend, I had to make sure that it wouldn’t complicate things, or affect the rest of the crew. I owed it to her.”

“Your decision to speak to Nyota was the correct one. No explanation is required.”

Jim smiles at him in thanks.

“You know, if you wanted to change your mind, we could still change our tickets and go to New Vulcan.”

“I am sure. My father is currently off-planet, and I would not wish to impose on the Ambassador.”

“Okay,” Jim says, placing a reassuring hand on his lower back as the line begins to move. They take a seat near a window, stowing their bags in the overhead baggage hold. Jim takes off a layer so that he doesn’t get too hot, laying his jacket across Spock’s lap, touching their fingertips as he settles in his seat. He falls asleep to the hum of the engines before the shuttle makes it past the Golden Gate Bridge.


	15. Chapter 15

Snow dusts the fields as they get closer to the farmhouse. Jim smiles lazily at Spock as the cab pulls up outside. Handing over his credit chip, he asks Spock to take their bags inside while he gets some logs for the fire.

Jim’s boots crunch on the fresh snow on his way to the outhouse, following the path rather than walking across the grass, so as not to ruin Spock’s hard work from months ago. Carrying a full basket of logs, he navigates his way past his father’s bike and back into the house. The house computer maintains a comfortable temperature inside, but there is no substitute for an open fire. Jim finds the firelighters and gets it started, so that by the time they have eaten dinner, the lounge is cosy. Spock sits on the couch, and Jim stretches out along the rest of it, resting his head on Spock’s thigh. The warmth of the room and the sound of the fire makes him sleepy, but he resolves to try and stay awake for Spock.

“Do you want to watch a vid? I’ve got all the classics.”

“Negative. I am most comfortable like this,” Spock answers, running a hand slowly through Jim’s hair. Jim closes his eyes, enjoying the brush of fingers against his scalp, and exhales, feeling sleep pulling him closer. 

“You’re not bored?” 

“Sleep, Jim.”

Jim twists so that he can look up at Spock. “I’m not tired.”

Spock quirks an eyebrow in response.

Jim sits up. “I don’t want to go to sleep. I was asleep pretty much the whole way here.” He pulls his sweater off, dropping it on the floor. “I missed you. As fun as it’s been, getting back into things, I kind of like it when there’s no-one else around. ”

Jim leans in for a kiss, and Spock moves towards him. Their lips meet, but both Jim and Spock end up awkwardly balanced on the edge of the sofa. Jim laughs, then lays back, pulling Spock with him so that they are lying side by side, close enough that Spock can feel the warmth of Jim’s breath against his lips. 

“Hi,” Jim whispers, smiling.

Spock kisses him, carefully tracing his fingers over Jim’s jaw line. Jim’s hands find Spock’s hips, and he pulls him closer until there is no space between them. Jim buries his head in the soft curve of Spock’s neck, breathing him in. Right now, just this is enough. Just to be here, safe and alive, being held so close and with such care.

“Sleep,” Spock says, voice barely audible. Jim tightens his hold and closes his eyes.

***

Typically, the snow does not stay until Christmas. Jim wakes early, but evidently not as early as Spock, whose side of the bed is cold. Jim uses the bathroom and dresses quickly before going downstairs, the smell of coffee getting stronger as he gets closer to the kitchen. Taking a small detour to the living room to select a playlist on the house computer, Jim hums along to the music on his way to Spock, who is seated at the table overlooking the yard. 

The whole point of coming back here for the holidays was to make some good memories for this time of the year, especially in this house, but Jim realises that he has no idea if Spock observes any holiday traditions. He’s not exactly familiar with festive cheer himself, although he’s seen the vids and heard the songs. There are probably dusty boxes of decorations in the attic, but it’s been a long time since anyone in the Kirk family decorated a tree. Most Christmases were spent getting slowly drunk and then sleeping it off. Dinner was usually replicated meatloaf, left after a few bites until the next time he woke up and felt hungry.

It was more than a lifetime away from the baked ham and mashed potatoes he remembers before the rest of his biological family fled and scattered themselves amongst the galaxies.The least Jim could do was cook something fresh and tasty for his first Christmas as part of a couple. 

He places a hand on Spock’s shoulder and squeezes gently before taking the fresh ingredients from the small refrigeration unit in preparation for dinner later. 

“Morning, Spock.” 

“Good morning, Jim.” 

“Do you want to go for a walk in a while?” he asks, sliding into the seat next to Spock’s and pouring himself a cup of coffee from the pot waiting on the table. “I didn’t plan anything today except cooking lunch, so we can do whatever. Although I do need to comm Bones later. After we’ve opened his presents.” Jim nudges his knee against Spock’s as they both look out of the window. “There’s not much to see out there, but I’ll keep you warm.” 

“My clothing should be sufficient. I have experienced winter on Earth previously, and therefore have already acquired suitable attire.”

“Then humor me, okay? I’ll just finish this and we’ll get going,” Jim says, taking a large gulp from his cup. It’s almost the wrong side of luke-warm but he drinks it anyway, and he runs upstairs while Spock busies himself finishing his tea and putting on his boots, pulling his winter robe over his sweater.

Spock frowns slightly as Jim throws a beanie at him, but catches it effortlessly. He pulls it over his head so that it covers most of his ears and skims his bangs, and Jim comments how stylish they both look as he pulls his own down. Spock wears a heavy coat over his robes, while Jim grabs a thick woollen jacket that skims his hips. They aren’t out for very long, less than an hour, but Jim gets to show Spock the overenthusiastic seasonal decorations that a neighbouring farm still puts out on their porch. Spock’s disapproving face at the plastic penguins and nodding reindeer fenced in by oversized candy canes makes Jim burst out laughing, and he threatens to bring Spock back later when it’s all lit up.

After they return to the house, Spock asks Jim to send the recipe for the lasagne to his PADD so that he can begin to prepare the vegetables and the marinara sauce. While Spock is busy, Jim fires off a quick message to his mother, wishing her a happy Christmas, before programming the synthesiser for the main ingredient of their lunch.

“It would be wiser to follow the recipe. I am not certain that plomeek will be a suitable replacement for eggplant.”

“Are you kidding? It’ll be delicious.”

Spock raises a skeptical eyebrow. “You are aware that Vulcans do not kid.”

“So you’ll have to trust me. And if it’s awful, we’ll fix it.” he says, stealing a kiss before he checks the cupboards for the pasta.

While lunch is cooking, they open their gifts from McCoy. Jim insists Spock goes first, watching him carefully peel off the tape and methodically unfold all the creases of the paper.

“What is it?” Jim asks.

“It is a box of tea. A variety of blends from planets throughout the galaxies.” For a few minutes, Spock is engrossed in reading the descriptions of the box’s contents before placing it carefully on the table.

“I must thank the Doctor. It is an extremely thoughtful gift, and well appreciated.”

“After I’ve opened mine; and then we’ll call him.” 

Jim tears at the paper and finds a jar of medical lubricant, pinned with the note ‘don’t use it all at once’ in McCoy’s scrawl. 

“Jesus Christ, Bones,” Jim mumbles, holding it up for Spock to see before he can ask what it is.

***

Dinner is a success. The flavor of the plomeek is milder than eggplant, but not too dissimilar in color. Jim adds pepper to his, while Spock eats it without, and compliments Jim’s fearless attitude to recipe modification. They spend the rest of the afternoon on the sofa; Spock sitting on the sofa, continuing to work on his program, and Jim next to him, cross-legged, knee cap touching Spock’s thigh, while he makes his way through an old favourite novel. He must have read Contact at least thirty times growing up, and resolves to take it with him when they leave on the five year mission. 

“Did you ever read this?” Jim asks, holding the cover up to Spock.

“I am familiar with the text. It formed part of the course material for Terran cultural studies at the Vulcan Learning Centre.”

“What did you think of it?”

“Fascinating.”

“Yeah, me too.” 

A few hours later, Jim closes his book and sits up, stretching upwards and reaching towards the ceiling. His back is a little stiff from lying still for so long, and for a moment he remembers how much pain he was in at the hospital. He rarely thinks of it any more. He’s more careful, perhaps. More aware of his limitations, his responsibilities, as well as his will to survive, even when he thought it was gone. With Spock by his side, he is no longer adrift. They are the wave and the shore. Never and always touching and touched.

He runs a hand over Spock’s cheek, catching his attention. 

“Come to bed?”

Spock leaves his PADD on the table, and Jim gently takes him by the hand before leading him to the stairs. They are silent until they reach the bedroom, although Jim feels the electric buzz of desire and anticipation in the pit of his stomach. Spock begins to undress, and Jim puts his hand on Spock’s arm. 

“Can I?” he asks quietly. 

Spock nods, and kisses him slowly. Jim slips the outer robe from Spock’s shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. Spock breaks their contact to lift his arms, allowing Jim to remove his layers of clothing. There are brief sparks of heat when their skin touches, and Jim wonders if Spock can sense his desire. Spock gently pulls Jim closer by the hips, leaving just enough space between them so that Jim can remove his shirt. Jim laughs, a little giddy and a little nervous, before kissing Spock deeply while fiddling with the button on his jeans. Spock’s hands find Jim’s, steadying him. Without letting go, Spock moves his head back just enough so that he can hold Jim’s gaze.

“Physical intimacy of this nature is not, nor ever will be, a requirement that you need to meet in order to keep my regard,” he says, voice soft yet steady.

“I know. And I don’t want you to do anything that you aren’t ready for, ever. So let’s make a promise. That if it gets too much, at any time, for either of us, we’ll say stop. We won’t try and get through it because we don’t want to disappoint each other. Okay?”

“That suggestion is logical.” 

Jim hums in agreement as he presses his lips against Spock’s. 

***

Spock wakes earlier than Jim but later than usual; the rise of the sun seemingly taking the place of his internal clock. Instead of using the bathroom and beginning breakfast as is his usual routine, he lies still, observing Jim. He has resisted doing so previously; unwilling to risk recalling the difficult emotions he experienced waiting for him to wake up, and instead taking comfort that time has indeed passed when their hands touch as they fall asleep each night.

He takes a calming breath and resolves to meditate immediately if necessary. Suddenly, Spock realises what a measure of faith it is to sleep so close to another person. To trust them so implicitly during a time of complete vulnerability. He stays by Jim’s side, resisting the desire to brush his hand through his hair, waiting patiently to be gifted with that small smile that Jim keeps just for him. 

“Is it late or early?” Jim asks sleepily, keeping his eyes closed.

“Is it 09:03.” 

“Oh, that’s so late for you to still be in bed. I like it.” Jim pushes the comforter off slightly and lifts his head up to crank an eye open at Spock, before snuggling back down and entangling their legs.

“Another half hour and then we’ll get up.”

After breakfast, Jim says there is something in the outbuilding he wants to take a look at, leaving Spock inside where it’s warm. Spock makes a mental note to bring him a cup of coffee in thirty minutes, and takes a seat. His reading is interrupted by the noise of a struggling engine. Spock places his PADD on the couch before opening the door to the yard.

“Should it be making such a sound?” he asks, watching from the doorway as Jim carefully rests an arm on the handlebar. 

“I don’t know. It’s a lot older than the one I had. It was my dad’s. Seems a shame to leave it here to rust. I thought that if I could get it running, then we could take it out today, if you want. Maybe I could even teach you to ride next time we come back. It hasn’t been used in forever. My mom hated it.”

Although he is not required to share the memory, Spock finds that he wishes to share something of his family history too.

“My mother once told me a story of how she owned a similar motorcycle when she was training to be a teacher. She would use it as transport to meet with my father when he was stationed on Earth, and at his request, they would sometimes prepare a meal and drive out of the city for the day.”

“It’s a little cold to stop anywhere for a picnic but I’ll buy you dinner tonight. Give me an hour and I should have more of an idea if this thing can go.”

Spock goes back inside the house, collects his PADD and after a few minutes, returns outside. Waiting until the noise stops again, he then extends the PADD to Jim. Jim takes it, reads the title of the file Spock has called up, and smiles. There is no arguing against the logic of being in possession of the PX70 maintenance manual.

Almost two hours later, Spock is holding on to Jim, keeping his arms wrapped around his waist. Before they left the house, Jim had told him to stay close and copy his movements, leaning with him as the road curves. He understands now why his parents had enjoyed this method of transport, despite the logical safety concerns. The speed and sensation of the air moving around them is thrilling, and although the feeling is most un-Vulcan, Spock leans in against Jim, allowing himself to embrace it fully. 

They ride until the stars map the sky.


	16. Chapter 16

Before traveling back to Starfleet headquarters for their final meeting with command ahead of the _Enterprise’s_ recommissioning ceremony, Jim and Spock return to their ship, spending a few days aboard to assist with the finishing touches before she is towed back to the San Francisco fleet yards. She is beautiful, but without her full complement of crew, the bridge especially feels empty. Jim knows how fortunate he is to have the best in the fleet, a crew that trusts him and wants to serve with him, especially after he has had to do a significant amount of learning the intricacies of being a captain while sitting in the chair as opposed to working his way through the ranks. He is under no illusions that he has and still will make mistakes, but there is no doubt that in every aspect of his life, he is made better with Spock there to anchor him.

Starfleet PR sends through a pre-prepared speech for the ceremony, which Jim reads during their shuttle ride and decides that it is not what he wants to say. While Spock signs off the final refit reports submitted by Scotty, Jim sends a message to Admiral Nogura, explaining he would appreciate the opportunity to give a speech of his own. 

The ceremony is at 15:00, and there is just enough time for a final briefing before they change into their dress greys. Jim is granted permission to speak his own words, something he was planning to do regardless of the decision made by his superiors. It means too much. Spock remains stoic until they are in private, where he silently runs his hands over Jim’s crisp uniform. Jim traces the insignia on Spock’s, running his finger over the tip of the arrowhead. He looked it up once, the symbolism of a single arrow. Wanting to try and understand what exactly could possibly be so important that his father had willingly sacrificed his life. Defence and protection. Important things to fight for, he understands now.

Jim studies Spock, watching the emotions pulling underneath the surface play out infinitesimally on his face. Spock has never spoken of melding with him, but Jim often wonders what it would be like to have that level of connection as a constant in his head. He kisses him, using touch to communicate what he can’t find the words to say. Spock reluctantly pulls away, aware that they cannot be late.

“It is time.”

***

Jim is the last speaker, and Spock watches him take the lectern, placing his hat just to the right of where the pages of his speech would usually be. He did not discuss the exact words he would use, and Spock suspects that Jim himself does not know what they will be until he begins to speak; instead choosing to rely on his gut feeling. 

“There will always be those who mean to do us harm. To stop them, we risk awakening the same evil within ourselves. Our first instinct is to seek revenge when those we love are taken from us. That’s not who we are. We are here today to rechristen the USS _Enterprise_ , and to honor those who lost their lives, nearly one year ago today. When Christopher Pike first gave me his ship, he had me recite the captain’s oath. Words I didn’t appreciate at the time. Now I see them as a call for us to remember who we once were and who we must be again. And those words? Space, the final frontier. These are the voyages of the starship Enterprise. Her five year mission to explore strange new worlds. To seek out new life, and new civilizations. To boldly go where no one has gone before.” 

Spock stands with the rest of the solemn assembly as they offer a final salute. He trusts the sincerity in Jim’s voice, knowing his words to be true. He also knows that wherever the mission takes them, and whatever lies after that, his place will always be by Jim’s side.


	17. Chapter 17

Jim waits for the bridge doors to open. He takes a look at his ship, home again now that everyone is back on board. A small smile plays across his face when Chekov announces his arrival. As Jim approaches the captain’s chair, Sulu begins to stand. 

“It’s hard to get out of it once you’ve had a taste, isn’t that right, Mr Sulu?

“‘Captain’ does have a nice ring to it,” he answers as Jim runs his hand over the leather headrest. “Chair’s all yours, sir.” 

They exchange smiles before Jim nods and Sulu returns to the helm. 

Remaining standing, Jim opens a channel using the control panel on the arm of the chair.

“Mr Scott. How’s our core?”

“Purring like a kitten, Captain. She’s ready for a long journey.”

“Excellent.”

Seeing McCoy, Jim runs down the couple of steps towards him. “Come on, Bones, it’s going to be fun!” he says, playfully grabbing him by the biceps before continuing his tour of the bridge. McCoy’s expression changes from dour to miserable.

“Five years in space,” he mutters, crossing his arms. “God help me.”

Jim approaches the newest member of his team with a welcoming smile. 

“Doctor Marcus, uh… I’m glad you could be part of the family.”

“It’s nice to have a family,” she answers, not making eye contact until the last moment.

It’s slightly awkward, but Dr. Marcus requested specifically to be assigned to the _Enterprise_. Jim makes a mental note to work at making sure she settles in. He nods a goodbye and heads back towards his chair. He remains standing, surveying the seemingly endless expanse of space.

“Spock,” Jim says, getting the attention of his first officer.

“Captain,” he answers, approaching the captain’s chair. He stands next to Jim, arms behind his back, PADD in hand. As they are on duty, he stands a professional distance away to observe the viewscreen.

“Where shall we go?” Jim asks, as if the answer lies in the cosmos.

“As a mission of this duration has never been attempted,” Spock says, turning his head to address him. They share a fond gaze for a moment, and Spock smiles almost imperceptibly, only for Jim. “I defer to your good judgement, Captain.”

Spock returns to his console and a sentimental smile plays across Jim’s face. He looks out of the viewscreen once more. He is still for a moment, grateful to again be on the bridge of his ship with his crew. There was a time when he doubted he would ever be here again. He takes a few steps back and settles into the captain’s chair. A five year mission. Deep space. Uncharted territory. It feels like a hell of a responsibility. One he wants. One he now feels ready for. He places a relaxed hand on either armrest.

“Mr Sulu, take us out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading <3
> 
> Find me on Tumblr [here](http://undeadandinbed.tumblr.com)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art: On The Arrow [The Holovids]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11235270) by [DeHeerKonijn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeHeerKonijn/pseuds/DeHeerKonijn), [Fic_me_senseless](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fic_me_senseless/pseuds/Fic_me_senseless)




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